


Conceptualize

by CloseToSomethingReal



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Abortion mention, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Casual misogyny, Choking, Coat hanger abortions, Crowley Whump (Good Omens), Explicit Sexual Content, Forced Oral Sex, Forced Orgasm, Forced Pregnancy, Graphic Descriptions of Rape, Mpreg, Physical Abuse, Self-Harm, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Fantasy, Suicide mention, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Victim Blaming, abortions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:49:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 44
Words: 112,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25293469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloseToSomethingReal/pseuds/CloseToSomethingReal
Summary: "I delivered the baby."Only Crowley desperately wishes that wasn't so literal.At least Aziraphale didn't know that.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 422
Kudos: 448
Collections: Unhealthy Lucifer/Crowley fics





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If I happen to have missed a tag, please do let me know, this is my new home in ratings, not my current home xD

Crowley, after six thousands years, knew pretty damned well that being summoned back to Hell for anything but a progress report was bad news. 

But it was a little like humans learning to detect asteroids. 

Terrifying, but it wasn’t like he could  _ do _ anything with the information. He  _ had _ to report. 

The asteroid could not be avoided. Quite frankly, he thought the humans had been better off not being able to see them coming, and he thought he would be much better off without forewarning, as well.

Humans couldn’t pull the Earth out of an asteroid’s collision course, and demons couldn’t ignore random summons to Hell without consequences. He missed the old days when Hell decided they needed to speak to you and the ground gave out under your feet. 

Much less anxiety and anticipation that way. Much less time to stress.

Not to mention, he wasn’t expected to  _ drive himself _ to the appointment. Irritably, he threw the Bentley into park in the middle of an obvious “No Parking Zone”, pulled the keys out and stuffed them into his pocket. 

If he claimed to be nervous, it would be an understatement. He didn't know why he was being called, there was always a chance that someone downstairs had found out about the Arrangement, and that was not a possibility he could afford. He didn't want to think of what Hastur or Ligur or Beelzebub would do to him if they found out he'd been performing blessings for an angel and shirking temptations onto that angel as well.

He stepped into the lobby, made his way over to the escalator, felt the familiar flip in his stomach as he left the Earth and descended into Hell. 

It was dark, damp, and it smelled. The halls were crowded, it would be easier to get around as a snake, only he refused to slither on the ground in Hell. Too much on that floor that he didn't want to think about. 

He made his way to Beelzebub, the one who had summoned him in the first place. He made his way into their office, where they were buried in paperwork. 

"You called, Lord Beelzebub?" He said, leaning against the doorframe. "Anything I can assist you with?" 

Beelzebub looked up at him. "Oh, it'sss not me who wants you here, I just got told to call you."

There weren't a lot of demons who had the right to boss Beelzebub around. 

In fact, there weren't  _ any  _ demons who could boss Beelzebub around. A chill ran down Crowley's spine. "Any idea… what  _ He  _ wants?" He asked quietly. 

"I'm sure you won't enjoy it," Beelzebub replied, "now I have work to do. Get moving!" 

Crowley ducked out of the Prince of Hell's office. 

Made his way somewhere  _ deeper.  _ Somewhere that the ground started making the rubber on the soles of his shoes melt to the hard stone, where the air warmed up but Crowley still felt cold. 

There was no way Satan wanted anything good with him. 

But he couldn't figure out what Satan would want that he could offer. Sure, he was the Serpent of Eden, but that was long ago. His latest accomplishment had been the M25 in the seventies. That was almost forty years ago. 

Was he in trouble because it  _ had  _ been so long? He was Hell's only full-time Earth agent, and he  _ had  _ been slacking. He'd spent more time in the last decade drinking wine with an angel than he had tempting. 

His footsteps echoed on the stone as he walked, finally made it to a black door, made of similar stone. 

He swallowed down his misgivings. 

This was the asteroid. He could no more escape his than humans could escape theirs. 

He just had to accept it.

Crowley reached out and knocked three times on the door. It opened to a large room, with glossy black floors and charcoal walls. The ceiling was high and cavernous, and yet Crowley felt more trapped than he ever had before when he stepped in and the stone door slid shut behind him. 

"M- my Lord?" 

He had to get the tremble out of his voice, it was unbecoming of a demon. He should be honoured, to be summoned to serve Satan personally. "You sent for me?" 

There was cold, empty silence for a long time.  **Indeed I did, Crowley.**

It was hardly even a voice, more a gnawing in his skull that he somehow understood. His eyes scanned the room, but there was no sign of any sort of Great Beast. 

The realization made Crowley feel even more trapped. He didn't doubt that Satan knew exactly where he was, and he had no idea where Satan was. 

He was perfectly positioned to be ambushed, and he didn't like it. The snake, the predator with natural, strong survival skills didn't like it, wanted to back itself against a corner it could defend. The snake summoned sharp teeth and a flickering tongue before he could stop it, but even smell didn't tell him where Lucifer was hiding, and after a moment he made his features go back to normal. 

"Might I ask what for?" Crowley asked finally, heart hammering in his ears. 

**Do not be afraid, Crowley; you have found favor with Me.**

"Favour?"

Crowley hackles didn't come down one bit at the strange wording. 

He'd  _ heard  _ something like that before. His angel had read it.

**Indeed. You've been chosen as a vessel for our eventual triumph.**

Crowley didn't realize he was backing up until his back hit the solid stone of the door with an echoing thud. Satan simply laughed. 

**I said, do not be afraid.**

That did nothing to quell the fear rising in Crowley's throats. 

There was another laugh and there was suddenly a very tall, very imposing  _ creature _ stood before Crowley. Crowley tried to take another step back as he was crowded against the door, but there was nowhere else to go. 

He was all horn and talons and tusks, with scrappy, worn black wings with feathers that hung in tatters.

His eyes were black, pupils red. His breath was foul, but Crowley couldn't retreat any further. He was held by that stare and the stone at his back. 

Crowley was looking into the eyes of the devil himself. And while an ordinary demon may have been flattered, he could barely keep his knees from shaking. Every instinct, snake and demonic, screamed at him to run. He tried to shift a little to one side, was met by a clawed hand slamming into the stone beside his head. 

**You're not trying to run, are you, Crowley?**

"Course not! Just… uh, just a little warm! It's hot down here. Do you find it hot down here? What if I go get us something cold to drink-"

**The end approaches and I've decided your part in it.**

"The.. the end?"

**The final battle between Heaven and Hell.**

"Don't we need an Antichrist for that? Little Satan Jr. to turn eleven and end the world?" Crowley asked, as a feeling of dread sunk into his stomach. 

He had a terrible feeling he knew why  _ he  _ had been called. 

**That's why you're here. You have found favour with your Lord, Crowley.** **_You_ ** **will bear the Antichrist.**

Crowley felt sick to his stomach. "Didn't reckon the immaculate conception would work for the devil-"

**It doesn't.**

Crowley's eyes went wide. "You can't possibly mean to-"

**The Antichrist will be conceived in a very human way. You ought to be flattered, Crowley. Every demon in Hell and I've chosen** **_you._ **

"I- I can't! I have duties on Earth!"

**Those you are incapable of taking care of yourself will be reassigned. This is much greater than your job on Earth. The ultimate honour.**

Crowley's mind reeled for a way to get out of this. "Surely there are others more deserving than me!" He tried, "I- I've hardly done anything of note lately, probably wouldn't be a good influence on the little welp!" 

**You're the Serpent of Eden. The original tempter. You're not… trying to get out of this, are you,** **_snake?_ **

Crowley swallowed hard and shook his head. 

You didn't argue with what Satan wanted from you. No demon was stupid enough to argue. He had no choice but to agree. 

But to give in. 

"Of course not, Lord Satan. I-" the words bubbled like acid in his throat as he forced them out, gave the devil verbal permission for whatever came next. Whatever violation and humiliation and torment came next. "I would be honoured," he choked out.

A grin split across the devil's face, although even that looked like a threat with his toothy maw.  **Excellent. I knew I could count on you to serve me, Crowley.**

Crowley didn't get the chance to say anything else. A clawed hand was shoved against his mouth, knocking his skull back into the hard stone. Pain blossomed, and he almost wished it was worse. Almost wished Lucifer would crack his skull hard enough that he would black out and never remember this.

Instead, he was acutely aware of the way clawed fingers tore his coat from his shoulders, threw it to the floor. The hand over his mouth flicked a finger at his eyes and his sunglasses fell to the ground to be trampled. He heard glass snap and shatter under Lucifer's foot as a knee was pressed in between his legs. 

Crowley tried yet again to recoil, fruitlessly, found his sharp teeth to have returned and bit his own tongue to avoid biting the hand pressed against his mouth. 

Things would only be worse if he fought. If he stood there and took it it would all be over and in nine months he could spend the rest of the time he had on Earth drinking to wash this from his memory. 

If he fought, he would suffer even more. 

The same clawed fingers that ruined his coat stripped him off his sash and shirt, cast them with equal disregard to the ground. 

Crowley truly wanted to believe that the hand would just go for his trousers next, get this over with and send him on his way, bowlegged and shamed. 

Instead, he was suddenly pulled off the wall and pushed into a bed that quite resembled his own. 

The same black silk sheets, springy mattress and plush pillows. 

He blinked, and he could swear it was harder to see the claws and teeth from before. Unless he looked from the corner of his eye, Lucifer appeared as a tall, dark haired man with red pupils. 

"Why-"

"It's not as though I don't know how this works. This will be easier on both of us if you're comfortable. I understand this is to your liking?" 

Lucifer had been  _ watching  _ him. Learning what he liked, what he enjoyed and indulged in. Crowley fought the urge to be sick on the black silk sheets. 

He didn't get a chance. A mouth crashed against his, stealing his voice and gasping breath away from him. He squirmed, but a hand held him firmly in place. 

Finally, the devil withdrew, Crowley's mouth ravaged enough for his satisfaction. 

There was almost a pleased look on his face. 

He couldn't possibly think that Crowley was enjoying this, could he? The fear was so far enough to keep any of his body's reactions at bay, surely the devil didn't think this was actually consensual. Surely Satan didn't think Crowley  _ wanted  _ this. 

It didn't really matter if he did. Maybe everything was for Lucifer's benefit, maybe the devil really was enjoying forcing Crowley into this. 

His trousers and pants were stripped from him, leaving him far more exposed than he thought he could feel. He steeled himself for the inevitable intrusion, but instead felt smooth fingers stroke down his labia, tease at his entrance before rubbing at his clit. 

Horrified, Crowley could already feel his body reacting to the touches. He wanted to throw Lucifer off of him and run as far as he could, but there was still a twinge of pleasure that struck his very core as fingers played at his clit. 

"No," Crowley said quietly, brokenly. "No, please, don't," he whispered. 

Bad enough to be bred by the devil. He wouldn't have his body turned against him. 

"Did you just tell me no, Crowley?" 

When Crowley didn't look up, a hand slapped across his face. "Did you?" 

Crowley shook his head, even as the fingers grew rougher and firmer and Crowley  _ knew  _ what Lucifer was trying to do, he didn't care if Crowley enjoyed this it would be  _ easier  _ if Crowley's body cooperated. Lucifer didn't care that this was worse than just being violated. The shape Crowley had known better than to change when he had heard Lucifer's plans would respond to this stimulus, it already  _ was.  _ He could feel himself growing wet, the fingers played in the slick before continuing to rub mercilessly at his clit. It hurt as well as it coiled arousal and pleasure up in his core, but the pain wouldn't matter. Lucifer was brutal and unforgiving and he would  _ continue  _ until whatever stimulus he gave brought the serpent to an orgasm, made him ready to take what the devil intended to force inside. 

"Please, do what you want just don't-" 

"You don't  _ want  _ to be touched," Lucifer said quietly, "you want this to be forced, you don't want to enjoy it."

Crowley nodded. 

Lucifer tutted. "That just won't do. But I can make this a little easier." 

He pressed his spare hand to Crowley's forever. "See whoever you would most like to see, sweet little serpent. It won't make a difference to me." 

Crowley blinked, and when he next looked up it was a familiar pair of grey-green eyes staring down at him, clouded with lust and arousal.

The sight made him want to get away even more, this wasn’t  _ right _ the owner of those eyes would never agree to this, would never  _ do  _ this, not with him, not with a  _ demon. _ He squirmed again, heard a hiss before words were spoken in Aziraphale’s voice. 

“Relax, Crowley. This is something you’ll enjoy.” 

It didn’t matter if he did or didn’t. He wasn’t getting out of his. 

The hand was back between his legs, he could  _ almost _ believe it really  _ was _ the angel, could almost believe this was something he would never admit to having dreamed about for much longer than he should have, and maybe it would be easier if he just gave in to the fantasy. 

Another tap on the forehead and he couldn’t even remember it  _ was _ a fantasy. As far as he was concerned it  _ was _ Aziraphale’s hand, and he let himself succumb to feeling. 

It occurred to him that there was no way he could tell himself it wasn’t his own fault. Not now. Not now that he had given in and let the angel that wasn’t his angel do whatever he wanted, have his way and force himself upon the serpent. 

He closed his eyes and let it happen. 

He awoke on his own, back on the hot stone floor of the office. There was no one else there, and for that, he was grateful. 

Everything hurt, worse than he had expected after Lucifer’s trick. His skin was sticky, knees weak, hair damp with sweat. 

It hadn’t been long since Lucifer had left, from what he could tell. But Lucifer  _ was _ gone.

No one was there to see how he rolled onto his side and his stomach convulsed, and he choked bile onto the floor. 

And no one was there to watch and judge as he curled in on himself and cried. 

It took several miracles to get ready to leave, to hold himself up straight and walk out of Hell with his dignity pulled up like a shield. He needed clean clothes, a towel, and some help to stand without leaning on the wall.

He was  _ not _ going to look the part of Lucifer’s  _ bitch _ when he left this office. He was the Demon Crowley, the Serpent of Eden, the Original Tempter and the only demon in history to convince an angel to perform a temptation. He had no reason to skulk out of this office like someone’s indiscreet one-night stand, even if that wasn’t how he  _ felt _ about it. 

Each time he closed his eyes he could feel lips he could have sworn were Aziraphale’s on his. The feeling made his stomach churn. 

That wasn’t fair to Aziraphale, and it wasn’t fair for  _ him _ to be a little bitch about it. It had been  _ his _ fantasy, and he had to deal with that fact on his own. 

How was he ever going to face the angel again?

He was the one who had let the devil fuck him just because he bore an angel’s appearance in Crowley’s head. He was the one who hadn’t stopped it, no, he couldn’t have stopped it, hadn’t  _ fought. _ Had given up fighting. Had given in and gotten  _ off _ on it. 

And he had no one to blame but himself. 

He steeled himself and pushed open the door, walked straight into Beelzebub, who had a twisted grin on their face and he knew without asking that they  _ knew. _ Maybe they had known the whole time. 

Maybe he could play it to his advantage. Avoid Earth until the end, until he could get a grip on himself. “Well, surely you have  _ some _ new assignment for me, can’t  _ really _ be planning on sending me back up there with an  _ angel _ if I’m so bloody  _ important _ to the plan.” 

His voice broke in the middle, and with it, his facade. He tried and failed to keep his expression neutral, found that he nearly burst into hysterics before he could stop himself. 

He took a deep breath and tried to regain his composure. 

Beelzebub had the audacity to  _ laugh in his face _ as he fought for control of himself. “Here I thought you might enjoy this assignment, given your behaviour on Earth.” 

Crowley stared at them in horror.

“Dream on, Crowley, you’re not being reassigned. You’ll keep this corporation safe, and the one inside you, because if you don’t, this happens all over again, and believe me, whatever just happened in that office is going to see like a  _ dream _ when Satan is done with you the second time.” 

Crowley didn’t doubt their words for a second. “Of course. I’ll… I’ll be on my way, now.” 

He got out of Hell as fast as his shaking legs would let him.


	2. Chapter 2

Crowley had a message on his answering machine, but he wasn't interested in listening to it. 

He was currently distracted burning the sheets off his bed. 

All he wanted to do was pass out and wake up when this was over, but even looking at his black silk sheets made him feel sick, so they had to go. 

It was time for a change, and since he couldn't do anything  _ physically _ , not in his state, he didn't doubt that if it would have taken more than one try Lucifer wouldn't have let him go so he  _ knew _ his condition had changed since he'd arrived in Hell, he had to change things  _ around _ him. 

A match seemed too forgiving. He glared at the sheets, summoned a handful of Hellfire and threw it at the wadded up black silk, watched the fire consume the sheets that were far too similar, no, exactly the same as those in the nightmare fantasy still playing in his head.

Admittedly, the new sheets he miracled into existence were not the most comfortable. He knew he should change, shower, try to scrub the horrible feeling of being  _ owned  _ from his skin but he was far too tired. He just wanted to sleep and shut down and forget about this all for as long as he could. 

The new sheets were scratchy and uncomfortable, cotton with far too low a thread count but he didn't have the energy to change them again. He simply flopped onto the bed, still in the skinny jeans and blazer he had miracled himself into, and closed his eyes. 

He wanted to sleep until this was over. Maybe that was eleven years, maybe there would be mercy and it would be nine months. Maybe once Crowley had done this he wouldn't be expected to  _ raise  _ it too. He could  _ hope  _ that he wasn't a good enough demon to be expected to be the child's satanic influence. 

He didn't  _ want  _ to spend more time with it then he had to. He wanted it out, almost enough to grab a coat hanger from his closet and  _ make  _ it come out. 

But he would just wind up back under Lucifer, and it would be even worse the second time. 

Nevermind what they would  _ do  _ to him if he tried to abort the Antichrist. They wouldn't destroy him, not if they wanted him to bear the child, but they  _ would  _ make his life ever more miserable than it already was. 

There was nothing he could do. He was trapped. 

With that thought in mind, he pulled the blankets over his head and willed himself to fall asleep. 

_ "Aziraphale," Crowley gasped, clawing fingers into the plush flesh above him. "Zira, you-"  _

_ "Shhh," Aziraphale pressed a finger against Crowley's lips.  _

_ Their skin was slick with sweat, bodies flush together. Every thrust had Crowley gasping, moaning and babbling out at the angel above him.  _

_ It was better than he had ever thought it would be. So many thousand years of fantasizing about the angel and he had never once guess how good it would be.  _

_ "Zira, I-" his voice broke, bordering on the verge of hysteria as the angel pressed further into him, Crowley could swear he was seeing stars.  _

_ "Zira-" _

_ "I know, I know, dear boy," Aziraphale whispered, and his voice seemed off but as Aziraphale's fingers made their way downwards, playing with his clit as he continued to thrust mercilessly into them Crowley lost all focus, letting out a wail as the tension in his stomach suddenly peeked.  _

_ Aziraphale wasn't far behind.  _

_ "There, was that so hard?" _

_ It didn't make sense for Aziraphale to say that. Crowley forced his pleasure-drunk mind to focus on what was happening.  _

_ He looked back up at the angel above him and stared in horror into Lucifer's black eyes.  _

"Crowley?" 

The demon sat straight up, heart hammering, stomach churning, and cracked the top of his head on someone's jaw. 

"Get off!" He yelled hysterically, shoving the solid body standing over his bed and using his heels to scramble backwards. "Get off of me! Stay back!" 

"Crowley!" The voice said again, and it was far too familiar, the last voice he wanted to hear right now. 

The voice out of his dream. 

Aziraphale was standing over the bed, and Crowley's voice died in his throat as he looked into those grey-green eyes. 

He couldn't breathe. All he could think of was the dream, of the fantasy Lucifer had put in his head and how  _ filthy  _ it made him feel. 

"Crowley, I called three times and you never answered!" Aziraphale said, clearly a little put-out. "I got word from above that  _ things  _ are afoot. The end is approaching." 

Crowley couldn't help but laugh, and when the first mad fit made it out of his mouth it was followed by another, and another and another and another until he was in full-on hysterics, not even sure if he was laughing or crying. 

Things were afoot.  _ Things  _ were afoot. Crowley was on Earth with the Antichrist growing  _ inside of him _ and Aziraphale wanted to talk about Heaven whispering about things being afoot. 

He should  _ know  _ that things were afoot. 

He laughed until tears were falling down his cheeks, even as Aziraphale tried to get his attention.

"Are you alright, Crowley?" Aziraphale asked, which only made the demon laugh louder, completely gone into hysteria. 

Was he  _ alright?  _ Was he  _ alright?  _ He was so incredibly far from alright and the last thing he wanted to do was talk to Aziraphale, the unwilling object of his unwilling fantasy while he got the Son of Satan fucked into him, about how  _ not alright  _ everything was.

But he didn't manage to answer. He found that he just kept laughing until he finally knew they had morphed into sobs and he buried his face in his hands. 

"Crowley!" 

Aziraphale reached out, to touch his shoulder, dry tears, pin him to the bed and fuck him senseless, Crowley would never know. 

"Get back!" He shrieked, scrambling further back and falling off the other side of his bed. 

He landed  _ hard _ on his back, gasped for air that was driven from his lungs. It took him a moment to sit up, coughing and hacking while Aziraphale ran around the edge of the bed to check on him, locking him in the corner he had fallen into. 

Crowley felt his breathing pick up, get stuttery. 

"Crowley will you please tell me what's upsetting you?" Aziraphale asked, approaching slowly. 

"Stay back!" Crowley yelled, pressing himself up against the wall his bed rested against. "Stay back, Aziraphale I'm fine just stay  _ back!"  _

Aziraphale didn't believe him for a second, he'd be a fool if he did, but he took a couple of steps back. 

"Are you alright, Crowley?" 

"What do you need? Someone to confirm things are afoot? You're right, they are!" Crowley shouted, but didn't go into what those things were. "Now just- I need some space!" 

Aziraphale took a few more steps back, almost looking hurt. Why would he be hurt? He didn't care about the demon, they were acquaintances out of necessity to the angel, the occasional drinking partner, he didn't  _ care _ about Crowley. "Are you certain you're alright?" He asked, frowning. 

"Completely! Tickety-fucking-boo!"

That would give him away more than anything else. He didn't say things like tickety-boo, that was the angel's thing. "Everything's fine, I'll tell you when I have relevant information for you! Now seriously, Aziraphale, I need some space! I'll come see you soon!" 

Aziraphale looked as though he might argue, but eventually nodded. "Right. I hope to hear from you soon, Crowley." 

And he left the room. 

Crowley let out a sigh of relief. 

After a few minutes, he managed to haul himself back up to his feet. 

He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. 

He needed a shower. He needed anything to make him feel like Lucifer's hands weren't all over him, as though  _ Aziraphale's  _ hands weren't all over him. 

He stepped into the bathroom, shed his jacket and shirt. 

Contemplated himself in the mirror. 

He wouldn't be showing anytime soon, he knew that. There would be no sign of how his body was betraying him and growing a little Antichrist deep inside, but it didn't stop him from examining himself, gazing over his form, looking for the slightest hint of his condition. 

He didn't find one, finally gave up and shucked off his jeans and pants before stepping into the shower. 

At first, he just stood under the hot water, letting it burn his skin and make his nerves sing. His flesh turned red, the water felt as though it was stripping his skin from his bones and he welcomed it. 

It didn't feel like his  _ own  _ skin anymore. It was on him, but it didn't belong to him. 

When he did use soap, he nearly scrubbed his skin raw. 

It still didn't feel better. 

Frustrated, he stepped out of the shower, dried himself off and put on new clothes. 

Crowley made his way to the kitchen, had the bottle of scotch in his hands before he remembered what would happen to him if he fucked up this task. 

He slammed the bottle back down onto the counter so hard that it shattered. Scotch poured all over his counter, glass flew around the room. 

He had no options. If anything happened to the Antichrist, he'd be held responsible and he didn't think that a second session with the devil was going to go any better than the first. 

He had to do everything he could to keep himself  _ out  _ of Lucifer's office. He couldn't go through that again. 

He  _ knew  _ it was his own fault. He had given in, let Lucifer's illusion of Aziraphale convince him to cooperate. 

Had convinced him to give in and  _ enjoy it.  _ The closest he would ever get to being touched by his angel. 

Even as his skin itched and he sat growing more and more uncomfortable in the body Lucifer had taken from him, he couldn't do anything. 

And he dared not try to sleep again. 

Things were bad enough without sleep. 

He had just decided to try and let the television distract him, settled himself onto the couch and tried to put everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours out of his head, when his show was rudely interrupted. 

"Duke Hastur. A little busy, try again later," Crowley said, summoning his most composed voice. "Already got an assignment." 

"Yeah, I heard about you getting railed by our Lord and Master." 

Crowley flinched, and Hastur cackled. 

"Mumsy for the Antichrist. Fancy that. Maybe you'll finally get a title out of it. Mother of the Great Beast? Although I suppose Bitch of the Devil has a ring to it. Satan's Whore?" 

"Shut up!" Crowley snarled, and Hastur laughed even more. 

"Don't like being used as a broodmare? Shame, here we thought we had found the perfect reassignment for you! Ranks of demons could use a boost before the end," Hastur remarked. Grinned wickedly. "I even volunteered to go next." 

"You're not laying a  _ finger  _ on me!" Crowley hissed, embarrassed to feel tears gathering in his eyes. 

"No? Only Lord Satan himself good enough for your pretty little cunt? I'm sure I could pull the same trick he did if that's the case," Hastur sneered. 

"What is the job, Hastur?" Crowley demanded, swallowing down bile and tears. He was not going to cry, and he was not going to vomit. Hastur wouldn't get that satisfaction. "What am I supposed to get done?" 

"We need you to spread a little resentment. Tempt someone." 

"I gathered. What's the job." 

"The American Ambassador." 

"What about him?" 

"Put that corporation of yours to good use, and tempt him away from his wife. We need her to have an affair, and everyone knows revenge is a  _ great  _ motivation."

"I am not going to let anyone else anywhere  _ near  _ me!" Crowley shouted, almost hysterical again. "And you need me  _ alive  _ for the next nine months so there's  _ nothing  _ you can do to make me! If something happens to the unborn Antichrist because of  _ you-"  _

"Relax, you don't have to let him fuck you unless you want to. Course, I won't judge you if you  _ do _ let him finger you. Just make sure you catch his eye in front of his wife." 

Crowley wanted to scream. He wanted to tell he wanted to refuse he wanted to throw the TV remote through the screen of the damned thing and watch the image of Hastur short out but it wasn't worth it. 

He would still have to do this, and he would  _ still  _ be stuck full of Satan's disgusting spawn. He wouldn't get out of anything by fighting. 

He sighed. "Right. Have I got to do it right now? Or can it wait?" 

"There's a party he'll be at tomorrow night. Put on a finer figure and I'm sure you'll have  _ no problem  _ getting in." 

"Only got a few more months of that  _ shit,"  _ Crowley spat. 

"Nonsense. Plenty of humans are turned on by a bitch with a stomach full of whelps." 

The television winked off and Crowley shrieked and threw the remote at the wall. It cracked against the hard stone, fell to the ground in a multitude of pieces. 

He collapsed back onto the couch, buried his face into his hands. 

He had to keep calm. He  _ couldn't  _ give Hastur this. He couldn't let the Duke rattle him. Couldn't give him the satisfaction. 

He just had to get through this. He could do it. He could get through it. He was the Serpent of Eden, this was his own fault, and he was going to be fine. Demons did not get traumatized, demons did not need time to recover from what he had been through because he hadn't been through anything. He had agreed,  _ twice.  _ Once to Lucifer and once to the illusion. No one had done  _ anything  _ to him that he hadn't allowed. 

And he wasn't going to sit around and lick wounds he had no right to have. 

But he was going to finish his nap. 

And if he prayed that there would be no more nightmares for the night, that was between him and God. Surely even She could agree he was suffering enough, even for a demon. 


	3. Chapter 3

Crowley was really starting to hate looking in the mirror. 

This time he was fussing over the ruby red lipstick he had just applied, but the feeling struck just the same as his frantic searching from earlier. 

He was acutely aware of what this assignment was, his blood boiled at the thought of Beelzebub and Hastur laughing about making him whore himself out just one day after being forced to conceive the Son of Satan. 

But he couldn't get hung up on that. 

He couldn't let himself focus on the shit he was being put through. 

He checked his glossy black nails, filed to points, saw no smudges. 

He  _ wasn't  _ going to let Hastur ruin something he  _ enjoyed.  _ He  _ liked  _ dressing up like this, he liked the way it made him feel, red lipstick and glossy fingernails and while he didn't bother with eye makeup, he liked the smooth satin dress and tall heels, liked doing up his hair in tresses and pins. And he wasn't going to lose that. 

No one was going to take that from him. 

No one had taken  _ anything  _ from him. He handed it over. And he was never going to forgive himself for it, but it was better than what  _ could _ have happened. 

Crowley fussed with his lipstick for a few more seconds, straightened out his floor-length black dress with long, generous slits up both sides of the skirt and walked out to the Bentley. 

He didn't have to like the assignment to enjoy dressing up, and he didn't have to be pleased with that was happening to him to do the assignment. This was something he would live with. 

He was complicit and had no choice. 

He slipped into the driver's seat. 

He knew where he was going, as always, details had been sent in the worst possible way, interrupting his morning of retching his guts out the moment he awoke. 

A quick Google search told him  _ that  _ wasn't going away anytime soon. 

So he had cleaned the vomit from his chin and refused to take the day off. If he sat at home he would sit and feel sorry for himself and there was no point. What was done was done and he was already carrying the little bastard as far as he knew, he couldn't do anything about it now. 

He had gotten up to his usual antics, glued some coins to the pavement, provoked at least two lovers quarrels. 

Hastur had a point. He was  _ good _ at doing that. He knew how to hold himself to make men and women alike uncomfortable, glancing at their partners as they kept their eyes trailed on the redhead walking by. 

In jeans that must have been two sizes too small and a low-fit top it was an easier job. 

It only got easier with a target. Someone like the diplomat would be an easy mark, there were already rumours of him stepping out on his wife. Crowley didn't actually need to let him  _ do _ anything, just make sure that his wife noticed when he walked off with another woman. 

After that, he could just disappear. The damage would be done. 

And not another  _ soul _ would have to lay a hand on him. Not another soul would  _ get _ to lay a hand on him. 

It was going to be a long time until his skin felt like his own again, but he didn't have to give it to other people in the meantime. 

He put his foot down on the gas pedal, tore off towards the gathering. He may as well get this over with. 

He whirled his way into the party, had to forcibly stop himself from grabbing a flute of champagne and gulping it down. 

He would be in a lot of trouble if the Antichrist had fetal alcohol syndrome. 

He picked up the glass of liquid bubbles, gazed into the golden colour and placed it back on the tray, however reluctantly. 

He had better not. 

He could feel eyes on him, knew that he attracted the attention of the room, no matter who was in there. He had spent six thousand years practicing this act, it was old hand by now and he knew it wasn't cocky to assume that everyone was looking. 

He breezed across the room, went and struck up a boring conversation with someone he had seen the American Diplomat talking with. 

Although it was boring, Crowley played up the talk, laughing and flirting with the admittedly very plain and irritating man. 

He didn't actually need this man for anything except making Thaddeus Dowling jealous. A woman like  _ him _ in the room and he paid attention to a lesser man. 

It would get the ambassador's attention, quickly. Crowley knew it would. 

Human men were all the same. 

They were easy to play. 

It didn't take long for Thaddeus to approach. 

"I can't say I recognize you," he remarked, shouldering between Crowley and the strange man he was speaking with. 

He immediately moved to playing shy. "Oh, I'm new in these circles, I haven't had the pleasure of meeting you just yet," he said with a soft smile. 

"Oh, believe me, the pleasure is  _ all _ mine," Thaddeus drawled. 

Crowley found his American accent to be boarish immediately. He had never liked America. 

But he didn't have a choice but to put up with it. He had to do this temptation.

He wasn't getting out of his assignments. Even with the  _ worst  _ one of all time being thrown at him. 

"You're too kind, really. I'm afraid I've quite lost my bearings here, would you mind introducing me?" Crowley asked. 

"Of course, but I'll need your name, I'm afraid I haven't heard it yet." 

"Anne. Anne Crowley," Crowley replied, although he  _ hated  _ using his real name on assignments he hadn't thought of anything else. Sometimes other things got in the way of planning, like coming to terms with the fact that you had just been knocked up by the ruler of Hell and were expected to deliver a perfectly healthy baby in nine months despite how stressed out you were and the fact that you were a demon with no  _ idea  _ how human pregnancies worked. Half the time, you didn't even have the parts required for one.

"Well then, Anne, shall I show you around?" 

Crowley smiled serenely and held out his arm. Thaddeus took it without much grace, and Crowley fought not to make a face as he was walked rather roughly around the room. 

He didn't miss the way the diplomat's hand would wander as they spoke with someone new, grazing further down the black satin than they needed to. After the first few people Thaddeus' had migrated from linking arms with him to guiding him around by the waist, and he had been groped three times by now and fought the urge to hit the diplomat twice as often. 

He needed to breathe. This was what he was  _ trying  _ to do. He  _ wanted  _ Thaddeus to do this, and he wanted Harriet to see. 

That was the whole point of the bloody temptation. He had known when Hastur had assigned it that Hell was finding it amusing to make him loan his own body to another assignment. The irony wasn't lost. 

Not on Crowley. How could it be? 

"What if we did a more… private introduction?" Thaddeus proposed, startling Crowley out of his daze. 

It was blatantly uncouth, had not even a shred of subtlety. Crowley fought the urge to recoil at the poor effort of a proposal.

He glanced over, saw that Harriet Dowling's eyes were on him and her husband, and nodded, smiling demurely. "It sounds lovely," he replied, and he didn't miss the way Thaddeus' eyes lingered on his pursed painted lips, trailed down the rest of his form. 

Crowley fought not to visibly shake as his skin crawled, but he let Thaddeus Dowling lead him down a hallway and into a private room. 

Everything was going according to plan. This was the plan and this was good. This was what he wanted. He had to keep telling himself that, as the grip around his waist tightened. 

The room couldn't be more obviously set up for the occasion, it was probably someone's actual bedroom, and Crowley reassured the feeling in his stomach with the fact that this had gone as far as it really had to. Harriet had  _ seen  _ Thaddeus walk off with him, that was all that really mattered. Nothing could go wrong anymore. 

He could relax. Nothing had to go any further than this. He sat down on the plush duvet, took a deep breath. 

The ambassador sat down next to him. 

Crowley fought not to shift away, made himself sit still.

"It's a real shame I haven't seen you around before. I definitely would have… gotten to know you better," the diplomat said. 

A hand slid along the slit of Crowley's dress, slipped up his thigh. 

He couldn't take it. He felt like he was going to explode, he had to get away. He couldn't let anyone else do this to him, not again. "Don't touch me!" 

Crowley slapped the ambassador's hand off his bare thigh. 

The ambassador looked taken aback, he barely even pulled his hand away when Crowley slapped it. 

"You've been coming on hard all night and now you say no?" Thaddeus asked, raising an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you've gotten shy. I left my wife at the party for you!" He added indignantly. 

A hand moved to brush his curls out of his face. He slapped it away. "Stay away from me!" Crowley snarled. He backed up along the bed, to his horror, Thaddeus followed, pinning him back against the headboard.

"You wanted this!" His American accent wasn't boarish anymore, it was angry and threatening and made Crowley's stomach drop down to his feet. His breathing picked up, he tried to move away and the diplomat, breath smelling of wine and champagne, crashed his mouth against Crowley's. 

He struggled, tried to get away and Thad refused to back off. He kept his lips forced against Crowley's and the demon was  _ panicking _ , breathing frantic, struggling for everything he was worth to get himself away from the diplomat. 

He shoved Thaddeus backwards. "Get off me!"

Thaddeus didn't even answer, just forced their mouths back together. A hand slid up the side of Crowley's dress and groped his breast, he squeaked and tried to recoil but he was back against the headboard with nowhere to go as Thaddeus put his hands all over him. 

It wasn't until the diplomat tried to force his tongue into Crowley's mouth that he got a plan in mind. 

The second Thaddeus's tongue brushed the inside of Crowley's mouth, he summoned back his fangs and bit down,  _ hard.  _

Thaddeus yelped and lurched backwards, tongue bleeding. Crowley scrambled back to his feet, getting one sharp high heel caught in the duvet and tripped, bashed both knees on the ground and wound up practically  _ crawling  _ out of the room before he took the moment to get himself back onto his feet. 

He rushed down the hall, barely staying on his feet as he ran for everything he was worth to get out of the building. 

He didn't stop running until he was back outside at the Bentley, throwing himself into the front seat and cranking over the engine. The car roared to life and Crowley sped off as fast as the Bentley could move. 

His hands were shaking uncontrollably. One of his meticulously filed nails was broken, lipstick smeared and tears streaming down his cheeks. 

He could still barely breathe. He wasn't watching where he was going, didn't notice anything was wrong until he very suddenly  _ stopped  _ moving with a huge crash, and he careened forwards into the steering wheel, his head struck something  _ solid _ and everything went black.

"Get up, Crowley." 

Crowley knew that voice. He cracked an eye open. 

His head ached something fierce, he pried himself up off the steering wheel. Blood dripped down his scalp. 

The world was spinning all around him. 

"Get up, Crowley!" Ligur snapped. 

Crowley groaned, looked at the chameleon demon. 

"What happened?" 

" _ You  _ thought you could get out of this assignment by crashing your bloody car into a lamp post and miscarrying," Ligur hissed. 

"Was an accident," Crowley said slowly, blinking a couple of times and holding his head. 

"Shut up. The police will be here soon, you need to get out of here. We're bringing you back to your flat, and you're  _ not _ going to try anything like this again."

"Wasn't trying anything…" Crowley groaned. Ligur grabbed his arm and yanked him out of the car. "Might not even be anythin' to miscarry…"

"Keep telling yourself that. You barely pulled off the temptation we  _ told  _ you to do, and you crashed the bloody car you've been driving for eighty years into a  _ fucking  _ lamp post. No one believes you. If you thought the first time was bad,  _ trust me _ , if you do something to ruin this plan, the next time Lucifer fucks you will be  _ so much worse. _ I wouldn't try anything else, and I'd start hoping there  _ is  _ something. It's not for lack of trying from our Lord and Master, which means it would be on you."

Overwhelmed, and without another clue what to do, stumbling on his silver heels and trying not to look at the damage on the Bentley, he would get the details of where it went and fix it later, Crowley just sobbed. 

Ligur looked at him in disgust. Angrily pulled Crowley off down the street. 

It was sooner than he would have thought it would be that he found himself in his flat, still in a singed, tattered dress with blood dripping down from his scalp. 

He was still shaking, still sobbing when Ligur left him in disgust, curled in a heap on the floor. 

It was all far too much. Far far far too much and he couldn't handle it, not on his own and he couldn't tell anyone, Aziraphale couldn't know because if he knew about the pregnancy then he would know what Lucifer had let him see, would know exactly what a disgusting _ , vile  _ creature he was, would know everything he desperately couldn't stand for Aziraphale to know. 

And neither of them wanted the end of the world. 

Aziraphale might just discorporate him if he learned he was carrying the Antichrist, and Crowley  _ couldn't  _ go through being  _ bred  _ again. This had to be the only time. 

Nothing could save him from this fate. If Aziraphale destroyed  _ this  _ Antichrist, there would be another. 

And Crowley would have no choice but to be Lucifer's demonic sex toy and incubator for every attempt they needed. 

There was no escape. 

And Crowley was all alone in it.


	4. Chapter 4

Crowley slept for three days before he felt well enough to assess the damage he had suffered. 

He suspected something had been broken in the crash, but for the sake of being able to drag him home Ligur had fixed it. 

There was a large blunt gash on Crowley's forehead, matting his hair with blood. His chest ached something fierce where it had been slammed into his steering wheel, and he had no way of knowing if Ligur's threats were going to have to come true. It was still far too early for a test, and his only clue was the nausea and vomiting he'd experienced when he got out of bed. 

Which could have been due to the crash. He had been slammed into his steering wheel driving ninety miles per hour, without an airbag. He should probably be dead. Vomiting and nausea would be the least of his concerns. 

But he couldn't allow himself to focus on that. He used a makeup wipe and a demonic threat to swipe what remained of his makeup off, got himself dressed in something that wasn't torn and stained. 

He had to go find the Bentley. Even if it was totalled, he could fix it, but he had to find it before it got taken to a scrap yard.

He had a message on the ansaphone. 

He limped over and pressed play. 

_ 'Crowley, I heard about a bad crash on the news, and it was your car in it. I've got the Bentley at the bookshop, would you call me to let me know that you haven't been discorporated as soon as you can?'  _

This was  _ so much worse  _ than searching crash evaluation sites. 

He had to get himself to the bookshop, which was bad enough, but he also had to explain whatever had caused the crash. 

He was an excellent driver. He'd been driving for longer than the average life expectancy of a human, he didn't get into crashes and especially not with lamp posts. Aziraphale was going to be suspicious, even more so given how he had acted when the angel came to visit.

He had to get everything under control. He had to get his mind under control, he didn't have any other choice. Everything had to be fine. 

Crowley took a deep breath, went to the bathroom and brushed his hair out, cleaned the blood away the best he could. 

He had a black eye and a busted lip as well as the gash on his forehead. 

He groaned, buried his face in his hands. 

Pulled his glasses on, splashed his face with water a couple of times and decided that would have to do. 

He would just have to lie convincingly enough to convince Aziraphale. 

He pulled on his regular shoes, caught a cab to the bookshop. 

He had difficulty sitting still in the passenger's seat, the driver asked him several times if he was alright and offered to drive him to the emergency room. Crowley refused and told him to go to the bookshop. 

He sighed with relief as he was dropped on the front steps of the shop. 

Took a deep breath, and knocked on Aziraphale's front door. 

The angel took a moment to open it. "Crowley? You look terrible!" 

"Thanks, angel," Crowley replied, forcing a sarcastic grin on his face, even as he felt himself trembling. "But I'm not discorporated." 

He could barely breathe. His chest felt still and full of cotton, like it couldn't fill with air anymore.

He just needed to get the car and get out. The angel frowned at him. "You've never crashed your car before," he remarked, looking a little suspicious. "I have it parked a little ways down the street. I couldn't fix it, frivolous miracles and demonic cars and all of that, but it's nothing you can't repair."

"That's not saying much, miracles are pretty all-encompassing." 

Aziraphale sighed. "Alright, it's pretty bad. What did you  _ do?" _

"Drove into a lamp post, obviously. I assume that's what the news reported," Crowley replied. 

Aziraphale's frown deepened. "Come in, Crowley, let's have a bit of a chat. You're concerning me." 

Crowley didn't want to come in, but he stepped through the doorway and let Aziraphale guide him into the back of the shop.

He didn't want to be there. He could barely even look at the angel without guilt and shame bubbling up in his throat, without remembering how easily he had given in to Lucifer's illusion, the disservice and dishonor he had done Aziraphale by allowing himself to surrender to the illusion. 

Aziraphale was an angel. He shouldn't be used in such a filthy act, a filthy fantasy. Crowley was a demon, there was no reason to complain about what had happened.

Allowing it was one thing.

Unwittingly dragging Aziraphale into the conception of the Antichrist was another thing entirely. He was a  _ demon,  _ lust was one of their specialties and he shouldn't have needed an illusion to let Satan have his way with him.

If he hadn't, he wouldn't be having this problem with his closest friend. 

"I have a fine bottle of Pinot Grigio, unless you would prefer a red?" 

Crowley swallowed. This was going to be harder to explain than even the car. He and Aziraphale had  _ always  _ been drinking partners. "Neither, actually," he replied. 

Aziraphale contemplated him. "Can't say I blame you, with how rough you look. I have scotch in the back if you want something stronger than wine." 

Crowley desperately wanted to agree, but he shook his head. "How about some tea, angel?" 

_ Now  _ Aziraphale looked suspicious. Crowley did  _ not  _ suggest tea. Crowley suggested scotch or wine or something else that wasn't good for unborn Antichrists. 

He couldn't risk it. 

"Are you feeling alright Crowley? You've been behaving strangely," Aziraphale remarked, although he did step into the kitchen to prepare tea. 

Crowley fought the urge to tumble back into hysterics after being asked if he was  _ feeling alright. _ He had spent the morning vomiting and it was either because he'd been in a grievous car crash and hadn't yet found the energy to heal up from it, or because growing a little Lucifer Jr. had more consequences than sex with the devil or the end of the world.

Regardless, he was  _ not  _ alright. Regardless, his form had been turned against him and part of him wanted to summon sharp claws and rend it limb from limb. 

The same part of him that wanted to untwist a coat hanger, actually. "Everything's fine, angel. Just not in the mood to get drunk." 

"That's not the only reason I ask. You were rather upset when I came to check in on you the other day, Crowley, and I'm afraid I can't fathom why!" 

Aziraphale walked back into the room with a magically heated kettle and two mugs. "The tea will be a couple of minutes. We can talk in the meantime." 

"There's nothing to talk about, Aziraphale. I got in a car crash and I don't feel like drinking, that's all," Crowley replied. 

Aziraphale shot him a look. "We both know that isn't true, and you're going to have to tell me." 

"I don't have to tell you  _ anything,  _ Aziraphale. We're on  _ opposite sides.  _ I  _ shouldn't  _ tell you anything." 

"Do you have something to do with the things Heaven is telling me are happening? After six thousand years I think you owe it to me to tell me if you're helping bring about Armageddon!"

"I  _ owe  _ it to you now, do I? You think I  _ owe  _ you every secret I might ever try to keep?"

"Are you helping them or not, Crowley?" Aziraphale demanded. 

"Where's the car, I'm getting out of here." 

"You are!"

Crowley stood up and towered over the seated angel. "I don't have to tell you _ anything.  _ And I  _ don't  _ have to tell you this, because it's none of your bloody business!" 

If Aziraphale was worried about Armageddon, he would discorporate Crowley if he learned about the Antichrist and if Aziraphale knew about the pregnancy then the fantasy would come out. 

There were no good options. 

He had to go. Crowley couldn't stay here and wait to slip up. He had to move on before he got into more trouble.

A sudden sinking feeling hit him right in the gut. 

Immortal beings didn't make friends easily. Humans tended to die a little too quickly. 

Crowley didn't have anyone to go to but Aziraphale, and he wasn't going to be able to visit the angel for much longer. 

Not once his condition began to  _ show _ . 

He had to keep this a secret from Aziraphale and  _ this  _ was not a secret that tended to keep well.

It had this lovely tendency to become very noticeable within a few months. 

"Crowley, you seem worried! Can you tell me so that I can help? Isn't that part of the Arrangement?" Aziraphale insisted.

A harsh laugh barked out of Crowley's throat before he could stop it. "You can't help, Aziraphale. There's really nothing to be done. It's an assignment." 

"If it's bothering you this much, maybe I could do it!" 

Another harsh, brutal laugh. "Trust me. This one is demons only, and even if you  _ could _ do it you would very, very quickly regret asking to help. I need to get going, angel. Should I say thank you for saving my car?" 

"Crowley. You would let me know if you were in danger, wouldn't you?" 

"I'm not in any danger."

As of now, he was just Lucifer's incubator. 

"This isn't the sort of thing you asked for…  _ insurance  _ about, is it?"

Crowley hadn't even thought about the thermos sitting in his safe until Aziraphale mentioned it.

Now that it was mentioned, it was impossible not to consider it. 

The Antichrist wouldn't be vulnerable to Holy Water when it was born. The little mongrel wouldn't suffer demonic weaknesses. 

But right now, it was just as vulnerable as the one carrying it. 

If something  _ permanent _ happened to Crowley, something  _ permanent  _ would happen to the Antichrist, too.

It would be the end, and Lucifer couldn't do anything about it.

"Crowley?" Aziraphale's voice sounded scared. "Crowley you're not planning on using-"

"No, I'm not," Crowley said very quickly, although he wasn't entirely sure he believed it anymore. "I'm not going to use the insurance, it's nothing like that."

Aziraphale didn't look like he believed that. That was fine, Crowley wasn't sure he believed it either. 

"I'm not in any danger, Aziraphale, everything is going to be fine." 

Lies. All he could do was lie lately, how on Earth could he tell the truth, after all? Lies were the best he could offer.

Aziraphale was still eyeing him nervously. 

"Can you please show me to the Bentley so I can get it fixed up and drive it home, angel?" Crowley asked, impatient. He couldn't keep up this act forever. Not even close. He didn't think he could keep it up for more than the next few minutes. If he didn't get out of the bookshop his whole facade was going to crack and he didn't like what the consequences of that were. 

"Crowley,  _ promise  _ me that everything is going to be alright," Aziraphale insisted. 

Crowley wanted to bristle, wanted to demand to know why Aziraphale thought he could ask for such a promise but that would all be too suspicious. 

Then again, it wasn't like what Aziraphale was asking was without suspicion. Why did an angel care if a demon was going to be alright? What sort of a rubbish angel cared enough about a demon to be concerned? 

Crowley sighed, forced the words out from between his teeth. "Everything is going to be fine, Aziraphale. Nothing to worry about, when the assignment is over everything will go back to normal." 

Aziraphale breathed a slight sigh of relief. "I'm glad to hear that, Crowley. Your car is out front, I just have it hidden away from mortal view. They were all very concerned about it before I hid it away."

Crowley nodded, stepped out the door and waited for Aziraphale to snap his fingers. 

Instantly, a very old car with an extremely crumpled front end, shattered windscreen, blood still dripped down the steering wheel. 

Crowley winced as he walked up to it, trailed his fingers along the dented and crumbled hood, pulled it back outwards as he walked. 

The satanic _miracle_ felt different now. Tugged at his gut in a way it hadn't before, as though it was reminding him of what it was hiding, the hellish power beyond what he could ever _dream_ of possessing growing there. 

The power to destroy worlds and make them anew. Powers that went so vastly  _ passed  _ folded fenders and banged up bonnets.

But the car, slowly and surely, was restored to its original condition as he dragged his fingers along it. The paint polished up, a tap on the windscreen and the cobweb shatter pattern was gone. 

He glared at the blood on the steering wheel, it faded from view. 

Lastly, he tapped each headlamp and they lit up, undamaged. 

"Right, well, thanks for getting it for me-"

"Why did you leave it behind? You love that car." 

"I heard sirens. Had to get out of there before someone brought me to the hospital, I didn't have time to get the car out of there," Crowley replied easily, "the best bet was to go back for it later."

Aziraphale still seemed suspicious, but he let Crowley climb into the driver's seat and pull out of the terrible job parking Aziraphale had done. 

He was glad to be out of there. Once he wasn't around Aziraphale he didn't have to pretend that everything was alright. 

Nothing was alright. He had no one to blame but himself, but nothing was alright. His closest friendship was ruined because of him, the world was going to end because of him, the Antichrist would be  _ born  _ because of him. 

And he was so not alright about  _ any  _ of it. Every part of it made him want to scratch his skin away, retreat back to an infernal form, hide out until the world ended and maybe, just maybe he could defend himself well enough not to be taken and forced into this plan again. Maybe some other poor sod would be Satan's bitch of choice if Crowley could make himself difficult enough to get ahold of. 

Anything to avoid  _ this  _ part of the plan. Crowley didn't even want to work to bring about Armageddon in general terms, this was horrendous to have his body stolen and used for this against his will. 

He drove up in front of his flat, stepped out of the car and pressed a hand against his stomach as though he would somehow be able to sense the new life there more than the miracle had suggested to him. 

Grit his teeth. "Go  _ away,"  _ he hissed, knowing that words alone couldn't do anything to change his condition, but he felt better having said them. "Go  _ away _ you're not  _ wanted _ ."


	5. Chapter 5

There were two little red lines. 

Crowley was seated on the floor of the bathroom, back up against the vanity. She had left the test up on the edge of the sink for as long as she possibly could before she snatched it down and peered at the results. 

And now there were two little red lines. 

Realistically, she had already known. For several reasons. The nausea, fatigue and soreness in her chest were good hints. 

The fact that Lucifer had let her leave Hell was another good one. She would be harder to catch a second time, better to keep her until there was a guarantee.

The twinge in her gut every time she performed a miracle wasn't expected, but it seemed to add up. 

And finally, most obvious was the fact that she'd now been wearing a female form for over a month and there was no curse of Eve to be seen. She never banished that _particular_ function of a female form, not since she was responsible. So when it hadn't turned up…

She had been almost certain.

But she didn't have to like the two red lines mocking her from the pregnancy test. She threw it at the wall, knowing she should put it in the trash can, burn the evidence, _something._ There was too much risk keeping something like that around and she had to get rid of it.

But for now, she bowed her head and cried for what seemed like the fourth time in three days. 

Lucifer's plan had worked. The end of the world was coming, the Antichrist would be born and she would suffer through it all. 

The Antichrist was growing stronger at _her expense_ every day now. Sapping her strength, stealing away her rest, screwing up her biology and making her life for the next nine months miserable.

Her phone rang. 

Crowley sniffled twice, wiped the tears from her eyes and hauled herself back to her feet. 

Answered the phone. 

"Hello?" 

_"Report, Crowley."_

"Why, so you can send me into Lucifer's office dressed like some sort of slutty maid?" Crowley snapped, even though her own words struck a pang in her chest. 

_"That's an idea I hadn't thought about, actually. Send you in there with a feather duster. Maybe if you make a report and we like what we hear, we won't have to."_ Beelzebub sounded just so proud of themselves for that comment, and Crowley wanted to slide into Hell and sink her _teeth_ into the Lord of the Flies' throat. 

"Do I have to go to you? Surely you want to get out of your ruddy office and the mountains of paperwork." 

She wasn't up for the travel, but the first rule of Hell was never to admit your own weaknesses or shortcomings. She would make it sound like a favour to Beelzebub, and they would agree.

Even if they suspected she had a reason of her own. 

_"I'm too busy. I'm sending Dagon."_

"Right. I'm at home. Ciao," Crowley hung up the phone.

Picked up the test off the ground, slammed the bathroom door behind her as she walked out. 

Someone on the floor above stomped on the ground to let her know she was being too noisy, Crowley yelled a lovely string of expletives back and knew she was getting a letter from the superintendent, but she wouldn't get thrown out. 

The super was a dear old woman who would never throw a pregnant tenant out on the streets. 

That was the only way the wretched thing taking up residences in her insides was going to help her. 

Dagon popped into existence right in front of her. "Report?" 

In response, Crowley handed her the test and the box with instructions. "You piece it together." 

She walked away. 

"Oh, excellent. Our Lord and Master was concerned you were going to cause problems with your end." 

There was another pause. "Did you- did you just hand me a stick that you-"

"Yep. Get out of my house, Dagon, I believe that satisfies your report," Crowley snapped. Stormed out of the room and left Dagon to show herself out. 

She wanted some coffee, an antacid and really? To go back to sleep. There was nothing she wanted to be doing, and she _didn't_ want to be processing this right now. 

"What am I supposed to do with this?" Dagon asked, pinching the positive test between two of her fingers. 

"Bring it to Lord Beelzebub? I've given you a golden opportunity here, Dagon," Crowley replied, pouring herself a mug of coffee. 

"Caffeine isn't good for infant development. Wouldn't want to wreck this, now would you?" She held up the test. 

Crowley irritably slammed the mug of coffee back onto the counter. She was fairly sure the handle almost cracked off. "Anything I _am_ allowed to drink?" She asked, raising an eyebrow. 

"Water," Dagon said unhelpfully, "decaf coffee." 

"I'm a demon, not a heathen. I'm not going to drink decaf coffee," Crowley muttered, dumped the coffee pot in the sink so that Dagon would trust that she wasn't going to drink it the moment the Lord of the Files left. 

"Just get out, Dagon. You have my report, it's the news you all wanted." 

Crowley almost thanked her for not making a snide comment about her situation before she remembered that demons didn't thank each other. 

Besides, she could just be waiting for the perfect moment. There was no sense trusting demons to be decent. 

Crowley yet again walked away before Dagon disappeared, but this time there were no footsteps left and she figured the demon actually had left. 

If she wasn't so tired of lashing out over everything, that was what she would have done. 

Instead, she walked back to her bed, curled up on her side and shut her eyes. 

Sleep didn’t come easily, she was getting used to that by now. Sleep hadn’t been coming easily for the last couple of weeks, and while she didn’t appreciate it she did understand why. 

Nothing was easy lately, not even her own mind. 

She didn’t even know what her own mind was telling her anymore, it roiled and fussed and freaked her out more than anything. She couldn’t make sense of her own emotions. She was furious, she hated _everything_ about this but she couldn’t make herself hate the little parasite growing in her guts. 

She’d gotten no real say in it being put there. Sure, she’d _agreed_ and she couldn’t deny it no matter how much she wanted to, but she hadn’t gotten to decide whether she was the one that Lucifer picked. She hadn’t gotten to decide whether she had to keep the little worm, she hadn’t gotten to decide whether it was _time_ for the end of the world but she knew that neither had it. 

The Antichrist hadn’t gotten a say at all. It hadn’t decided that the devil should use a fantasy to make her agree to grow the whelp, it hadn’t decided when or how to be conceived or born. 

It was the only creature involved in this whole mess with less of a say than Crowley had gotten. She couldn’t bring herself to hate it. No matter how much she wanted to, the most she could muster was apathy. She didn’t feel connected, she didn’t feel hate, she didn’t know how to feel about the Antichrist. 

Maybe it was for the best that she just felt nothing. No matter how much pain the rest of this put her through, she just simply felt nothing. 

There was nothing to feel. 

“You and I are really in a class of our own on this, aren’t we?” She murmured, looking down at where though nothing was showing, she knew something was growing. “Neither one of us want this, we both just have to play along with what others expect of us.”

They were both trapped. To her horror, Crowley realized that she almost felt _bad_ for the Antichrist, conceived and born in such a violent matter with no say of its own. 

It was just as much a victim as Crowley. Moreso. Crowley had given in to Lucifer’s illusion, the Antichrist had no say whatsoever. 

How could she complain? She was less of a victim than the child. 

The world was going to end and it was all her own fault. Everything she had loved for the last six thousand years was going to disappear, ending at the whims of the child Crowley had allowed to be conceived.

With that miserable thought, she closed her eyes again and tried to force herself to sleep. 

_"You've done everything asked of you. I think you ought to be rewarded, Crowley," Aziraphale breathed, although Crowley was a little too hazy to remember what it was she had done._

_It must have been something, if the angel sought to reward her. She wriggled against the cotton sheets below her, head tipped back as the angel's tongue drew along her pulse, his fingers working far below._

_She could hardly focus anymore, wrung out on Aziraphale's shockingly rough fingers and brutal pace, demonstrated more by his rapid, deep thrusts deep inside of her than anything._

_She couldn't really figure out how she would be rewarded beyond this, and every graze of Aziraphale's fingers felt like more of an electric shock and pleasure, even as her head began to swim more and more and a hysterical pleasure grew in her core._

_The angel spilled before she slipped over the edge, hot, slick seed sliding everywhere, between Crowley's legs and deep in her cunt, and a few more quick jerks had her crying out the angel's name at the top of her lungs, head tipped back and mouth agape as ecstacy coursed through her veins._

_"You seem tired, Crowley," Aziraphale remarked, and Crowley shook her head frantically._

_She didn't want this to stop. She didn't want to give up this physical bond with her angel, wanted to keep him deep inside her for the rest of her existence, never let him go. Wanted to feel joined with him for every second of every day._

_"A greedy little thing, aren't you, Snake?"_

_Aziraphale didn't call Crowley snake. Serpent, yes, among other things but never snake. Snake was belittling, mocking, almost cruel. Aziraphale wasn't cruel._

_Crowley blinked, stared up hard into Aziraphale's green eyes._

_"You're not… you're not him," she breathed, watched the colours shift as the person wearing Aziraphale's looks leaned in, held her by the hair and hissed in her ear._

_"I'm as close as you'll ever get, snake. When I'm through with you, no one else is going to want what's leftover. You keep yourself well-behaved, look after my son. I'll see you soon."_

_The eyes went red, and then whoever it was disappeared._

Crowley woke with a start, sat up, gasping. 

It was a dream, it was just a dream no matter how convinced she was that she could still feel the heat of Lucifer’s breath against her ear. 

It was just a dream. A nightmare, true, but it hadn’t really happened. It might have felt real, true, but it wasn’t. Nightmares weren’t real. Any child knew that.

Crowley took a deep, gasping breath, pressed her hands down against the sheets on either side of her and stuck her left hand in something sticky. 

She shrieked and pulled her hand off the sheets, stared at it in shock. 

It wasn’t sweat. She didn’t quite know _what_ it was but it wasn’t sweat and a sinking feeling struck her as her eyes welled up with tears. 

It wasn’t blood, it wasn’t sweat, it wasn’t anything of the sort. It wasn’t anything that she wanted to believe that it was.

It was proof that it _wasn’t_ a dream. Lucifer had really _been_ here, using the same illusion as last time, and had done the same thing as last time. 

She slid off the bed and fell _hard_ on her knees. Sobbed before she even realized she was crying, sobbed and couldn’t stop, the tears kept flowing as she slowly, oh-so slowly took inventory of the state she was in. 

She realized how stupid she had been to have believed that everything was a dream when she noticed that her knickers and jeans were tangled around her ankles. She was sore and stiff and sobbing like the world was ending. 

In a way, it was. 

“Why,” she breathed, staring desolately at the floor, hiccupped before another sob made its way to the surface. "Why come back?" She sniffled, wiped tears away from her eyes with the heel of her hand but more just fell to replace them. "Why come back for me you got what you wanted?" 

Why would he need to come back? Why would he need to come back and do it again after Dagon returned to Hell with proof that the first time had been a success, that the little destroyer of worlds was growing inside of her? 

She knew the answer. 

Lucifer had no reason to come back. There didn't need to be a reason. Lucifer didn't need a reason to whisper his illusion back over Crowley and use the demon until he was satisfied, knowing there would be no protest, knowing that Crowley wouldn't put up a fight even if she realized this wasn't a dream. 

She hadn't the first time and it was a sure bet that she wouldn't now. 

Lucifer hadn't come back because he thought he needed to. Lucifer had come back because he'd found himself a target and he _wanted to._ He would be back as often as he pleased, to abuse the mother of his child and take his pleasure with or without her permission. 

Conception no longer had anything to do with it. This was because Lucifer _wanted_ to, and the thought made Crowley sick. 

She forced herself to her feet, pulled her jeans up by the belt loops and fastened them again. 

She felt sticky and uncomfortable and bruised. A shower or a bath would do her good but she didn't have the strength to set that up right now. The world was crumbling down around her and she couldn't even focus for long enough to draw a bath. 

There was a pattern of bruises on her forearm, probably where Lucifer had held her down. She hiccuped yet again. 

"We're never getting free," Crowley breathed, one hand instinctively running over her stomach even though there was nothing to feel. "You and I, we're stuck here." 

Another tear slipped down her cheek. 


	6. Chapter 6

"Shit."

The button of her jeans was insistently  _ not  _ fastening. The fly had been enough of a problem, and now the button was refusing to close. 

Crowley grit her teeth, stared down at the button but could  _ understand  _ why it wouldn't close. 

For the last month she had  _ needed  _ a closed jacket in order to be seen by people she didn't want to know, and clearly it was getting worse. 

She was going to have to call it soon. There was no more pretending that everything was normal, no more pretending that everything was fine. 

She was two and a half months pregnant with the end of the world, and it was showing now. 

Lucifer had been back twice since the first time. 

Crowley didn't like to think about it. She washed the sheets when she woke up and tried to forget it ever happened. 

Now, two and a half months since the first time it had happened, the whole affair was too obvious.

She had to start cutting ties if she couldn't think of a way to get rid of it. She needed at least the next seven months to herself, she wasn't going to have anyone find out about this. Not while she was vulnerable and disadvantaged. Other  _ demons  _ wouldn't touch her for fear of Lucifer's retaliation if anything happened to the baby, which was apparently now around the size of a strawberry, a fun fact Dagon had supplied her with during the last home visit, but there was no guarantee with cultists or angels. 

If a  _ demon _ caused something to happen to the pregnancy, then while Crowley would have to go through the whole ordeal again there wouldn't be additional suffering. 

If something  _ else  _ was the cause…

Crowley sighed, left the button undone and pulled her shirt down over the evidence. 

The middle of her silk shirt pulled tight around the bump between her hips, she pulled on her usual coat and buttoned it shut. 

It would have to do. 

She didn't have to be out for long, after all. 

Just long enough to cut her ties.

She paid Shadwell the Army's wages first, covering the next year without complaint, just so long as the Witchfinder Army stayed out of her way. 

She was just on her out when Shadwell stopped her. 

"Yer lookin' radiant, Miss Crowley." 

Shadwell wasn't normally the sort to waste breath on compliments. Crowley frowned, but smiled gracefully and thanked him anyways. 

"Partner excited?" 

"I'm sorry?" Crowley turned back around, faced the old man, a puzzled look on her face.

"'m old enough to recognize pregnancy from weight gain, Miss Crowley. I imagine congratulations are in order," Shadwell replied, and the blood drained out of Crowley's face. 

"Y- you can tell?" She asked, glancing down at herself, what she had been  _ convinced  _ was hiding the condition when she left the house. 

"Ye were actin' a bit weird, tipped me off, but yea, I can tell."

"Don't say anything!" Crowley said frantically, biting her lip. "No- no one else knows. You can't tell anyone, please." 

Shadwell looked concerned, Crowley stepped out of the building and fled to her car. She didn't give him another chance to say anything, slammed the driver's door behind her and sped off before the old man could catch up to her. 

Her hands were shaking. 

She had one other place to go, she needed to make sure that Aziraphale wasn't going to come looking for her anytime soon.

Which after six thousand years of working together wasn't going to be an easy task. Aziraphale was not easily dismissed. 

Crowley was going to have to  _ hurt  _ Aziraphale in order to  _ make  _ him stay away. Otherwise there wouldn't be a good enough chance that Aziraphale stayed away until she had all the difficulties with the Antichrist sorted out. He would turn up unexpectedly at her flat and find out about the whole thing. 

She couldn't let that happen.

She parked the Bentley outside Aziraphale's bookshop, sat silent and still in the front seat until she was almost certain she had a hold of her emotions. She couldn't let them get out of hand and get the better of her. She could only say what she  _ wanted _ to say. All of her secrets had to stay secrets no matter how Aziraphale pushed her. 

She looked over herself once more, tried her best to assure herself that Aziraphale  _ wouldn't  _ notice like Shadwell had, although the sergeant had her nervous. 

If  _ he  _ was old enough to recognize pregnancy, Aziraphale was six thousand years old. There was no guarantee he would miss it. It was likely, in fact, that he wouldn't. 

It was something Crowley would have to deal with if it became a problem. 

She walked up on knees that shook ever-so-slightly, knocked on Aziraphale's front door. 

The angel opened it without much delay. "Crowley, dear girl, it's wonderful to see you! I have a bottle open in the back-"

"I can't stay for a drink, Aziraphale," Crowley replied, although she walked to the back anyways, up the half-flight of stairs separating the bookshop from the private quarters. "I just needed to let you know that I've got to go away for a while." 

"You've been away for months!" Aziraphale protested, following after her. 

Crowley leaned against the doorframe beside the stairs, Aziraphale stood as elegantly as always, ramrod straight and without leaning on anything in the slightest. "I know. Big assignment, it's going to keep me busy for… a long time now. I'll call you when it's over," she said quickly, "now I'd best be going." 

"Crowley, I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist on you telling me what exactly is going on! Why have you been avoiding me?" Aziraphale demanded. 

Crowley bristled instinctively. "I don't have to tell you anything!" She snapped, narrowing her eyes. 

"Why won't you! We have the Arrangement, stay out of each other's way, help out when needed, for God's sakes I brought you Holy Water and you won't tell me the truth about why you're planning on disappearing!" Aziraphale said accusingly.

Crowley couldn't stand the tone in his voice. She took a few steps forwards, put herself in Aziraphale's face. "And what, I owe you every private facet of my life because you gave me Holy Water I was planning on getting my hands on without your help?"

"Why won't you just tell me whatever is bothering you?" Aziraphale demanded, giving Crowley a frustrated look. "You couldn't more clearly want my help but you won't tell me what's wrong!" 

"I don't want your help!" Crowley squawked, gritting her teeth. "Aren't you hearing me Aziraphale? I don't want your help! I want you to back off for… I don't know, seven months? Then you can prattle on about helping me with things you can't help me with but it's  _ too damned late  _ to help me with this one! If you wanted to help me you should have been there when it happened, it's too late now! Just back off and let me handle it, you already let me down!"

"Let you down?" Aziraphale repeated, shocked. "How in God's name have I  _ let you down,  _ Crowley, I don't even know what's happening! I don't know what's bothering you, but don't you  _ dare  _ try to pin whatever this is on me!" 

Crowley fought not to scream. 

It had to be  _ someone's  _ fault. Someone had failed, surely someone was responsible as well as Crowley. She couldn't be entirely responsible for her own torment, she couldn't be the only one to blame. 

She couldn't  _ be  _ to blame. If she was to blame then there was no real blame, this was all the result of things she had  _ allowed.  _

Someone else had to share responsibility with her. 

It wasn't rape since she had agreed, so the blame wasn't with Lucifer. 

So it had to be with Crowley for agreeing, and with Aziraphale for not being there to stop it. "The first time, the  _ only  _ time I needed you to repay  _ every time  _ I've gotten you out of every  _ stupid  _ situation you've gotten your pompous angelic ass into, you couldn't be bothered to return the favour! You left me to the bloody wolves!" Crowley snapped, taking another step forward, sharp teeth bared.

"I don't even know what you're talking about!" Aziraphale cried, "now get back!" 

Aziraphale pushed against her shoulders. 

Crowley stumbled backwards, her heel didn't meet anything solid. As soon as she put her weight on that foot, something in her ankle cracked and she was falling.

The staircase. 

It was all Crowley had time to do to throw out her hands uselessly out to catch herself, didn't manage to. 

She hit one stair, crashed her hipbone into it, cracked her head against another and slid the rest of the way down the staircase, smacking against each individual step.

Something wet dripped off her skull. She laid at the bottom of the stairs, gasping for air. She couldn't bring herself to move, even as Aziraphale cried out and ran down the stairs after her. 

"Crowley!" He gasped, pressing a hand against her injured ankle. "Crowley dear  _ Lord  _ I'm so sorry, let me help!"

"Get off of me!" Crowley shrieked, jerked herself backwards and away from Aziraphale's hands. 

What if he could sense that something was wrong? What if he knew about her condition the moment he tried to heal her? She couldn't risk it. 

What  _ about  _ her condition? She had just fallen down a flight of stairs she was in such a delicate condition right now and she couldn't stand it if they had to start all over again, if she was forced to go through this all over again because  _ Aziraphale _ had pushed her down the stairs…

"Crowley, please, let me heal you." 

"You stay away from me Aziraphale! You stay the  _ Hell  _ away from me!" She cried, hauling herself back to her feet. She placed her foot on the ground, her ankle screamed in protest but she ignored it, snapping her fingers as she made for the door and feeling the pain dull out as she continued walking. 

"Crowley, wait you're hurt!" Aziraphale cried, running after the demon. His hands wrapped around Crowley's wrist, pressed right against the bruises Lucifer had left there the last time he had visited.

Crowley  _ froze.  _ She couldn't take another step no matter how much she wanted to, tears filled her eyes as Aziraphale's other hand touched her shoulder. Her throat felt thick, she couldn't breathe. 

"Crowley let me help, please. Let me heal you and we can discuss this. I know you  _ think  _ I've done something wrong, why don't we sit down and talk and you can tell me what exactly it is?"

Crowley blinked, tears dripped down her cheeks but she finally managed to come back to herself a little bit. 

This wasn't a dream, this wasn't Lucifer it was  _ Aziraphale  _ and she could fight back. 

She whirled around, knocked Aziraphale's hand off her shoulder and pulled her wrist from his grip. "Stop touching me!" She snapped, more tears falling now, she knew Aziraphale could see them past her sunglasses and didn't care. "You've done enough harm for the day, just leave me alone like I asked you to!" 

Aziraphale didn't fight this time, didn't try to argue his way into convincing Crowley to stay. He let her storm out the door of the bookshop and back into her car. 

She slammed the door to the Bentley, jammed the keys in the ignition but made herself drive carefully. 

She couldn't risk anything else going wrong. She had fallen down the stairs she couldn't risk another accident, not if she didn't want to have to start over she couldn't get into more trouble because the angel she  _ trusted,  _ Aziraphale, had pushed her down the stairs she had to make it out of this with the Antichrist intact or everything started again and she had to go through all her pain and humiliation all over again. 

She drove as carefully as she could, got herself back to her flat in Mayfair. Her legs shook, she stumbled up to her door, one hand against her stomach praying to any mercy left in the universe that the Antichrist was still alive, was still drawing life from her, that she wasn't about to find a lot of blood on the sheets and have to go through all of this again. 

Her landlady walked up to her. "Miss Crowley? Dear, I don't mean to be a bother but you're two months late on your rent," she said softly. 

Crowley spun around on her heels, faced the elderly woman face on and she gasped. 

"Miss Crowley, dear, are you alright?"

Her eyes trailed down to where Crowley's hand rested against her stomach, let out another gasp. 

"Have you told anyone, dear? Do you need any help?"

Crowley shook her head, wiped her eyes and tried to unlock her door. "I'll have the check to you by the end of the week." 

"Forget the check. Do you need help with something? Tidying up? Grocery shopping? I've got three of my own and I can't  _ imagine  _ expecting one on my own, dear! Have you told the father?"

Crowley just sobbed, leaned back against her flat door. 

The woman bit her lip. "I'm so sorry, dear, I didn't mean to upset you. If you need anything, please let me know, dear girl." 

She took Crowley's hand in both her own, patted it a few times. "It may seem like more trouble than it's worth, but I promise you it gets better. Just give it enough time to grow on you." 

Crowley blinked again, more tears dripped down her cheeks and she forced her flat door open. 

"Don't you fret about the check. If you can't get squared up by the end of the month, we'll have a talk." 

Crowley could easily square away the rent, she had forgotten to sign the checks with everything else going on. She nodded, and disappeared into her flat, clicking the lock into place behind her. 

She unbuttoned her jacket and threw it at a hook, looked down at the way the silk of her shirt clung to the ever-growing bump she had, pressed a hand against it and for the first time wished that everything would be alright with it. 

She wouldn't get out of this assignment. Lucifer was proving he  _ enjoyed  _ doing this to her, he would gladly do it again. If she wanted to avoid the most of what she could, being bred like some sort of bitch in heat, then the Antichrist she already had growing in her had to be okay. 

Crowley walked into her bedroom to go back to sleep, prayed for a restful night, prayed that Lucifer wouldn't want her tonight. He had just been there three days ago, surely she would have a little more time when he would leave her alone. 

She fell onto the cotton sheets and closed her eyes. 

Woke up to dark spots of blood on the black fabric.


	7. Chapter 7

"Dagon, please don't ask too many questions. I need the most recent manual on human anatomy you have, and twenty-four hours before you tell Beelzebub that you gave it to me," Crowley said quickly. 

They had no physical way of detecting the state of the Antichrist. There was blood on the sheets but not in excess, there was pain but that could be from falling down the stairs. 

"What, so you can flee?" 

"No!" Crowley said, breath catching in their throat. "I'm not trying to run, Dagon,  _ honest.  _ I- I tripped while I was out yesterday. Fell down half a flight of stairs-"

"The Antichrist!" Dagon snarled into the phone, "Crowley, what did you do?" 

"I don't know yet. I just woke up and there's blood on the sheets and before you tell Beelzebub I want to get a scan done!" Crowley babbled, near hysterics. "It could be fine, I need to go to the hospital and get a scan and in order to do that I need to have perfect human anatomy." 

"What sort of a scan?" Dagon asked suspiciously. 

"The humans have a scan that can show them… the… the unborn-" 

Crowley couldn't bring themself to call it a child. In their head, they called it a parasite, even with the slight union they felt to it. "Point is, the humans will be able to detect the heartbeat, Dagon, and I really don't think that if nothing happened it's going to be  _ good  _ for the Antichrist if I get dragged back into Hell by Beelzebub, and you  _ know  _ that's what will happen."

Dagon took a deep breath. "And you want how long on this?" 

"Twenty-four hours. Then you can tell Lord Beelzebub whatever you want and hell, you can  _ watch  _ what happens because of it if it turns your crank. I'll never tell a soul you told me anything, I'll swear up and down I called you begging for help and you turned me in. Just give me twenty-four hours."

The Lord of the Files sighed. "Twenty-four hours until I call Beelzebub, Crowley. And I don't think you'll  _ like _ what happens if you cross me. Check your desk for the most recent analysis." 

Crowley breathed a sigh of relief. "I'll call back as soon as I know anything." 

"One catch." 

"What?" Crowley asked, chewing on their lip.

"If it's dead, you escort  _ yourself  _ back here. No fuss, no mess. You bring yourself back down and you go back to Lucifer's office without any trouble. Put up a fight, and I'll tell everyone you did it on purpose." 

Tears welled in Crowley's eyes at the thought of delivering themselves to Lucifer's mercy again. 

Humans couldn't try again after a miscarriage for at least six weeks. 

They doubted the same would be true of a demon under Lucifer's whims. 

And there was always the chance Lucifer made them  _ stay. _ Stay throughout the length of the pregnancy and keep a personal eye on them. 

That wouldn't be the only thing suffered if they had to stay in Hell. 

Lucifer would take advantage of not having to journey all the way to Earth just to fuck the only demon who didn't want him to.

"I'll do it. Just get me the analysis, Dagon, and I won't be any trouble if anything's gone wrong," they promised. 

"You've got a deal." 

Dagon clicked the phone off. 

Crowley rushed over to their desk, studied the diagram Dagon had sent them and made the necessary adjustments to their corporation. 

They had to get to the emergency room and convince a human doctor to have a look at what had happened. Assuming Crowley's luck held, it would be dead, but at least they would have  _ tried  _ to protect themself from another vicious encounter. 

They grabbed their wallet and ran out the door. 

"I need to see a doctor for an…" Crowley had googled what sort of scan they needed on their way to the hospital. "An ultrasound." 

The receptionist raised his eyebrow. "You need an appointment for that, Miss," he replied, "why, you pregnant?" 

"I'm not a miss and yes I am, and I fell down the stairs yesterday. I need to know if the baby is okay," Crowley replied urgently, leaning over the desk the receptionist stood at. 

"Listen, I'm sure it's fine. Those things are pretty tough. You're still going to need an appointment," the receptionist replied. 

Crowley wanted to scream. "Listen, I don't have time to make an appointment. I have twenty-four hours to find out if the baby is alright, I  _ need  _ you to get me in to the see the doctor." 

The tears that filled their eyes and slid down their cheeks past their sunglasses weren't faked. The tone their voice took on wasn't either. 

If they didn't find out then they would be sent back to Lucifer, expecting to spread their legs as well as accept any punishment the Dark Lord saw fit for the demon who lost the Antichrist before it was even born. 

They  _ had  _ to know and they had to know  _ now _ . 

The receptionist looked concerned. "Are you in any sort of danger?" 

Crowley panicked. "No! I just- I just need to know!" 

"Listen, it you're being threatened I can refer you to a shelter that could look after you, keep you safe-"

"Not being threatened, just need to know if the baby is alright, and I need to know  _ now.  _ Please, it's urgent. Can you help me or not?"

The receptionist sighed. "I'll go see if the doctor can squeeze you in. What's your name?"

"Anthony Crowley," using a fake name didn't even occure to them, "I'm not giving you permission to share whatever you think I told you with anyone!" 

The receptionist didn't reply.

Crowley took a seat, throat dry. 

About three hours later and a lot of encouraging nods and smiles from the receptionist, two people walked up beside Crowley. 

One was a young woman with skin the coffee of strong coffee, the other an elderly woman with greying hair in tight ringlets. 

"Hello, I'm Doctor Azzad," the younger one held her hand out, "I'm a prenatal care doctor here. I understand you're in need of an ultrasound." 

Crowley nodded. 

"Have you had one before for this pregnancy?"

Crowley shook their head.

"And how far along are you?" 

"Two and a half months." 

"Well, then you're due for your first, anyways," Doctor Azzad decided. 

Crowley eyed the elderly woman suspiciously. "And what are you here for?" They demanded. 

The woman took a seat beside Crowley, took one of their hands in hers. "I'm a counselor, dear. My name is Catherine," she replied softly, "I help people in your position. Those who've been assaulted or are being threatened and abused by a partner."

"I told the receptionist he couldn't share any information."

"Receptionists don't take the hippocratic oath, dear. And he told me that you said you only had twenty-four hours to find out if everything was alright. Now, we  _ are  _ going to do that for you, but we would very much like to take you out of the situation putting this pressure on you and get you somewhere safe," Catherine explained. 

Crowley snatched their hand away. "I don't need any help. Don't need a mind-fucking wannabe doctor who's going to read in to everything I say, I just need to know that the baby is alright. So, Doctor Azzad, where to?"

Catherine just sighed. "If you change your mind, please don't hesitate to ask to see me. We're here to help, and I promise to keep the mind games to a minimum. We're here to protect you and the baby, if that's what you want."

"Don't need protecting," Crowley said stiffly, "would say nice to meet you, but, really it's nothing that I wanted to do in the first place. I'm not being abused, I'm not a victim of anything, I just need to know if the baby is alright, that's all. Am I going to get that or not?" 

Doctor Azzad cleared her throat. "Come with me, Anthony, we'll have a look. Catherine, we'll be back after the scan."

"We will  _ not,"  _ Crowley muttered. 

There wasn't anything that a human counselor could do for them. No sense in talking to her. 

What could a human do for a demon being made to bear the Antichrist? For a demon that Lucifer kept coming back to visit and who was going to pay so very dearly if Aziraphale shoving them down the  _ bloody _ stairs did something to the Antichrist. 

Doctor Azzad led Crowley down several winding hallways, up an elevator and into an examination room. 

"Well, lie back, lift up your shirt and let's have a look at the little one. Have you got any name ideas?" The doctor asked conversationally, guiding the conversation away from counselors and abuse. 

She walked over and booted up the monitor while Crowley laid back against the cold padded cot, forced themselves to relax. "No names yet," they replied, although they screwed up their nose at the thought.

They wouldn't get to name it. It would be the human family who took the Antichrist and made it so that Crowley could finally put this chapter behind them who would get to name the child. 

"Waiting until it's born?" The doctor asked, lifting Crowley's shirt out of the way. She put some gel onto a wand and carefully pressed it against the small swelling bump. "Sorry, I know that's cold and unpleasant." 

"Something like that," Crowley agreed, eyes trained anxiously on the screen while the doctor worked on locating the Antichrist. 

It took a couple of nerve-wracking minutes until she finally found something. 

Smiled. "Oh, I think the little one is fine," she decided, placed the wand to the side and pressed her stethoscope to Crowley's stomach instead. "Yes, it's not moving at the moment but I can hear the second heartbeat, nothing to worry about. The baby is going to be fine."

Crowley breathed a sigh of relief. 

"Would you consider answering some questions?" The doctor asked, while she used the wand to find the little parasite and point it out to Crowley. 

"What sorts of questions?"

"You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to, you just  _ may  _ be at higher risk of miscarriage if you're in a rough situation and we would want to see you more often. So I guess the first question is, would you agree to come in for regular check-ups? Catherine doesn't have to be anywhere near them, purely medical, checking on yours and the baby's health, that's all," the doctor explained.

"I… I suppose I could do that." Crowley agreed, biting their lip.

They could always blow off the appointment of they needed to. 

The doctor nodded. "We'll get your next one scheduled before you go. Second, and you don't have to tell me why you were on a time limit or why you're so clearly scared, but did you falling down the stairs have anything to do with it?" 

"No."

Of every lie they had uttered since walking in the door, that one didn't make the list. It was actually true. 

_ Aziraphale _ had pushed them down the stairs and Aziraphale wouldn't be seeing them until after the pregnancy, now. 

"I'm glad to hear that. Last question, are you and the baby in any sort of danger that you  _ want  _ us to try to help with?"

Crowley shook their head. 

"Very well. Do you have any questions for me? This is a first-time pregnancy, I assume." 

Crowley nodded. 

"I assume you have things you would like to know," the doctor paused to invite questions. 

"There was blood. On the sheets. When I woke up this morning." 

Doctor Azzad smiled sympathetically. "A little bit of spotting is normal during pregnancy. For next time you're worried, a doctor should be able to hear the foetal heartbeat and tell you that everything is fine without needing the ultrasound." 

Crowley nodded again. 

"If that's all, before you leave, make an appointment with me at reception. We'll make sure you're well cared for, Anthony. Both of you."

Crowley nodded for a third time, and the doctor helped get the cold gel off their stomach and back onto their feet, and was led back down a series of hallways to a different reception. 

"We'll make you another appointment here, I'll see you in two weeks for another check up and then we'll get you into a regular schedule, okay? Is there a time of day that works best for you?" Doctor Azzad asked. 

Crowley shook their head. "Whenever is fine." 

Another appointment was booked for two weeks from the day before, Doctor Azzad loaded Crowley's arms up with pamphlets and leaflets and then allowed them to leave. 

Catherine did not reappear. Crowley was relieved about that. 

They didn't even wait until they had driven home to call Dagon. 

"It's alive. The doctor heard it's heart beating, it's alive," they said the moment the Lord of the Files picked up. "Please tell me you haven't told Beelzebub yet." 

"I'm a demon of my word, Crowley, you had a number of hours before I was going to say anything. But how do I know you're telling the truth?" Dagon asked. 

"If you come over here with a stethoscope you could probably hear it too, but I really don't know what you want me to tell you, here. Unless you want another stick I pissed on." 

Which wouldn't prove anything. Less than twenty-four hours later, Crowley's hormones wouldn't have dropped back to normal. Not when they weren't controlling those bodily functions in the slightest. 

"No, I don't. I suppose it's you who suffers if you're lying, so I don't particularly care. I'll be back up to check on you soon, for some reason Beelzebub believes you when you say you can't come to Hell for your reports." 

Dagon hung up the phone and Crowley sped back to their flat, relieved to be in the clear at last. 

The baby- the Antichrist- the  _ parasite  _ was fine, and Crowley could relax and go about the next seven months in peace. It had survived the fall, and they were out of the woods for injuries caused by angels they trusted more than anyone in the world. 

Everything was  _ fine.  _ As fine as it could be, with the Antichrist's little heart beating deep inside Crowley. 

They parked the car outside their flat, in a spot that was obviously illegal, locked the doors and neglected to carry the hundreds of pamphlets Doctor Azzad had given them into their flat. 

Everything was fine. They wanted to wash the sheets, have a drink, but they would forgo that one, and have a nap. The stress had worn them out. 

They walked up to their flat door, unlocked it and stepped inside, shrugging off their coat and hanging it on the hook. 

A movement in the corner of their eye clued them in that  _ someone  _ was in the flat with them. 

"Hello?" 

"Oh! Crowley. I hear you fell into a little bit of… trouble today." 

Aziraphale's eyes seemed a little sinister. 

Later, Crowley couldn't tell which bruises were from falling and which were from Lucifer.


	8. Chapter 8

The vomiting had mostly stopped at three months, quickly replaced by kicking. 

Crowley liked that even worse. They were constantly getting hoofed in the ribs by something they didn't even _want_ there.

And now they had a stupid order to go and visit a cult of _satanic nuns_ , because, of course, Crowley did not get to give birth in a fucking hospital, they had to do it surrounded by some crazy devil-worshippers in a little religious hospital out in the middle of nowhere. 

To add to the indignity of the whole thing. They couldn't even decide where they had to be the day the parasite was due to crawl out. 

They were seated behind the wheel of their car and trying to convince themself that this wasn't going to ruin every aspect of their life, this wasn't going to be the end of everything Crowley loved and that damn well included driving the Bentley, but though they would be loathe to say it, the speedometer sat well below the speed limit for this road and there was someone honking irritably behind them. 

They couldn't get the sound of crunching metal and the feeling of their head impacting the steering wheel out of their head when they accelerated, and it was proof that this _had_ ruined everything they enjoyed. 

But at this point, at five months in Crowley was not going to risk fucking it up just to drive the Bentley recklessly like they normally did. They only had four more months until the Great Beast was out of them and until life could go back to normal. Until Lucifer would doubtlessly get bored and Crowley could go back to speaking with Aziraphale. 

Just four more months. He only had to get through four more months. 

Just four more months. 

Crowley put the car in park and climbed their way out of the Bentley. 

That was getting a little bit more difficult lately. They pulled the black, knee length coat they had acquired more tightly around themself, which didn't hide their condition but it gave them a little more dignity, at least in their mind. It hid what was happening a little. 

Not that a cult of satanic nuns were going to see their condition as an _indignity._

An honour, maybe. Nuns were married to the Lord, so they supposed satanic nuns would be married to Satan. 

Any one of them would have _gladly_ offered up her body like some stupid Virgin Mary, and Crowley wished to _God_ that one of them been offered the chance instead of what _had_ happened. 

Instead of hobbling up to the door of the hospital, pregnant and being paraded around at Hastur's whims. 

They didn't knock on the door. By God they might have had most of their autonomy and decisions taken away from them, might be getting sent on these journeys to humiliate them but they were _not_ going to _knock_ on the door of a Satanic Religious Hospital. 

They pushed the door open and instantly regretted it. 

They could hear a woman shrieking. Shrieking in pain, absolutely _screaming_ to the Heavens and for all to hear and Crowley wasn't sure how they had missed it from outside but it made them sick to their stomach. 

This was a birthing hospital. A little religious birthing hospital. 

They were getting a preview of four months from now as they listened to the woman yell and scream and shout. 

The door was mostly closed, but Crowley caught sight of a woman lying in the cot, gripping tightly to the bedpost as she cried out in pain, the nurses standing at the edge of the bed ready to catch the baby. 

Crowley had to tear their eyes away when they thought they saw something start to peek out.

"Master Crowley," it was a regal sounding voice that startled Crowley enough to make them look away. 

They looked over to see an elderly woman in a black veil. 

"I am the Mother Superior here. I apologize for the display, we weren't expecting Missus Wright until next week, but she's a bit early and there's nothing to be done about that. Come right this way, Master Crowley, we'll sort of some details."

Crowley could feel the eyes of not only the Mother Superior but each of the Sisters as they walked along to a back office. 

They were ushered to a seat. "Now, let's have a look-"

"You're not going to touch me," Crowley said quickly, an order rather than a statement. 

"How else do we check on our Master's child?" The Mother asked. 

"I've been seeing a doctor. All is well. Tell me the plan, and I'm leaving. Don't lay a finger on me or I swear to you, you'll losssse it."

Their tongue flickered on the last 's', peaked out from behind their teeth. 

They tasted _fear._

The Mother Superior was used to Hastur. Crowley was a wild card, she couldn't guess what they would do. She didn't know anything about Crowley besides that they had done _something_ to make Satan choose _them_ to carry the Antichrist, and for the one time it would help, Crowley was going to use that to their advantage. 

No low-ranking Earth Agent was going to be tasked with bearing the Antichrist. As far as the Mother Superior was concerned, Crowley could even outrank Hastur. 

That was going to force her to keep her distance.

"We've been ordered-"

"And now you've been ordered differently. I'm not interested in having your filthy mortal hands all over me," Crowley said with a sniff. "And who do you plan to listen to, Duke Hastur or the Serpent of Eden, Bearer of the Antichrist?" 

They watched her throat Bob as she swallowed. "Very well, Master Crowley. How much of our plan have you been appraised of?" 

"Been a little busy, Mother Superior," Crowley pointed downward and the Mother nodded. 

"Very well. We're swapping the Antichrist for the son of the American Ambassador. You will bring yourself here on the day you are to give birth-"

Crowley's mind flashed to the screaming woman and they winced. 

"I can't imagine it will be so difficult for you." 

Not so difficult for the demon who was the _reason_ birth was difficult. The nuns were laughably naive.

"Am I going to know ahead of time what day that is?" 

"Duke Hastur is certain you will know," Mother Superior replied. 

Crowley fought the urge to roll their eyes. Of _course_ Hastur wanted them surprised when labour started. If they got any _warning_ they might be able to _prepare_ to drive themself to the religious hospital in the middle of nowhere. 

They would have to speak to Dagon. Maybe she would be willing to help. 

"Regardless, you will give birth here, we swap out the child and dispose of the spare somehow, and you can go on your merry way. You won't get to spend much time with him, but imagine your reunion when you see each other at the end of the world!" 

The Mother Superior smiled widely, and Crowley fought the urge to shudder.

They didn't _want_ a reunion at the end of the world. They didn't want to spend _any_ time with the Antichrist. They wanted to be free from this whole ordeal.

They sat and tried to avoid jittering the whole time the woman was speaking, and practically _ran_ from the hospital. They refused to be here longer than they had to. 

Crowley was about halfway through the drive back to London when they had to pull over and retch out the door, coughing the contents of their stomach onto the gravel road. 

So the morning sickness hadn't quite gone away as much as they wanted to pretend. They would have to pick up more plain crackers on the way home, try to settle their stomach. 

It was bearable, by now, they could drive themself to a supermarket and grab a package of salted crackers and be on their way. When they got back home, they could see if a bit of a lie-down would help. 

They irritably pulled up in front of a supermarket and dropped the car into park, stormed through the automatic door and grabbed a shopping basket. 

“Oh, look at you, dearie! A boy or a girl? Why, I remember when my daughter was waddling around like you, just a few months before my grandson came around! Do you have any names picked out?” An elderly woman approached Crowley out of the blue, grinning and _reaching_ for them. Crowley lurched backwards, eyes growing wide at the endless spatter of questions. 

“Boy. Five months. No names,” they said, hoping that answering would have the woman stop sooner. 

They know it was a boy from the ultrasounds, Doctor Azzad was monitoring the Antichrist very closely. She was concerned since Crowley had been shown to have ‘high blood pressure’, and she wanted to pay close attention to the parasite and Crowley. 

Apparently it was indicative of something known as preeclampsia. Crowley was pretty sure they couldn’t get preeclampsia or any sorts of human ailments, but they did know that their corporation wasn’t taking this condition well. 

“No names? Waiting until you see the little tyke? Five months in, you must be bursting with excitement to meet the little guy! My daughter was overjoyed!”

“Overjoyed. Right,” Crowley mumbled, trying to walk away from the woman.

They made it around her, booked it for the aisle they could find the crackers in.

They snatched a packet off of the shelves, immediately bumped into someone else who was staring quite intently. 

Not another one. 

“Oh, you must be so excited! Got any names chosen?” The woman asked, beaming and _pressing a hand_ against Crowley’s stomach. 

Crowley flinched backwards, the Antichrist kicked and they winced _again._ They hissed out a breath between their teeth, pressed a hand to where they had been kicked. “What are you _doing?”_ They demanded, eyes wide behind their sunglasses. 

“I was just havin’ a little feel!” The woman protested, seeming a little shocked by Crowley’s rebuffle. 

“I- I don’t want- hands off! I don’t have any name ideas, now don’t _touch_ me!” 

“Alright, alright! There’s no need to get upset with me over it, was an innocent hand!” 

An _innocent_ hand to add to the hundreds of hands that got laid on Crowley with the barest amount of their consent all the time, and this one hadn’t had _any_ permission. She had just reached out and grabbed and Crowley didn’t care for it one bit.

No one felt the urge to ask _permission_ anymore. 

"Since when can you just reach out and touch people just because you want to?" Crowley asked, wrung out from the previous invasions of the day. "Why the _Hell_ are you upset with me you're the one who reached out and touched me, you don't even know me!" 

Before the woman could reply, Crowley stormed out of the aisle, box of crackers safely in their shopping basket. They didn't feel like getting caught by the woman again, didn't want to have to entertain her excuses. What sort of an excuse was there? Why would someone think they could just do that? 

Crowley tugged their coat further around themself, hoping to hide their condition from more prying eyes, even though they _knew_ that by now there was no hiding available to them. 

They walked up to the till, placed the box of crackers in front of the cashier. They threw a few pounds onto the counter. "Keep the change."

Before the cashier could say anything, Crowley had snatched up the packet of crackers and left the store. 

They made it back to the Bentley, fell into the driver's seat, leaned their head back against the headrest. Long, thin fingers tore at the packet, ripped it open too viciously and threw crackers all over the car. 

"Shit!" 

Crowley snarled and threw the torn packet onto the passenger's seat, stomach still roiling, nausea yet again bubbling up in their throat. "Shit shit shit!" 

Nothing was going their way. Crowley irritably picked a cracker up off their lap and stuck it in their mouth, snapped it in half while closing their mouth and knocked the car back into first gear, taking off from the car park and heading back for the Mayfair flat. 

There was no guarantee this would end well for them. Their flat was rarely empty these days. Despite their growing physique and fatigue, they were rarely left a night alone. 

It was beginning to feel commonplace. Even upon waking and realizing it had _not_ been a dream, that they had been paid another visit by someone _pretending_ to be Aziraphale, they no longer had the energy to protest, nor the will. It didn't do them any good. 

They unlocked the door to their flat, threw their keys in the bowl by the door. They ignored the crackers they had gotten all over their car, resolved to clean them up after a nap. Their nausea wasn't any better, but they were slowly getting better at sleeping through the bouts anyways. It wasn't like they ever ceased for long, Crowley got used to sleeping while feeling ill. 

They shrugged off their coat and made for the bedroom, hanging it on the hook outside their bedroom door. 

They pushed open the rotation door, were met face-to-face with Hastur and Ligur. 

"How were the nuns?"

"Piss off, Hastur," Crowley muttered, glaring up at him. "I did your assignment, congratulations you got to boss me around _again,_ now get out of my flat. This is absolutely exhausting and if we want the Antichrist to be healthy, I need my damned rest." 

Hastur scoffed. "You're really going to try to talk to us like that?" 

"You can't do anything to me for at least another four months, Hastur. You know what will happen to _you_ if something happens to the Antichrist at this point," Crowley replied, yawning. 

"He's right, Hastur," Ligur muttered, "but Hell does not forget, Crowley. I would watch my tone. Sometime, you're not going to be pregnant, and the Antichrist will be safe without you, so we'll be able to do whatever we like to _you. You_ are not important to the Great Plan after the Antichrist is born." 

"Right. Can I get some sleep now? I've had a long day, driving up to Tadfield and back. Haven't got much energy for myself lately. Seriously, what else could I be expected to do for you right this moment?" 

Hastur huffed. "Fine, let's go, Ligur. We'll be back, Crowley, and you will regret your tone." 

"Right. Ciao," Crowley said, yawned again and laid down in bed. 

They had gone back to silk sheets after Lucifer had shown no preference in what sheets Crowley had and had ruined the relative security that different material had offered them after their first encounter with Lucifer. 

Now they were back to the silk they had always prefered. They closed their eyes, pulled the blankets up around their shoulders. 

They just needed rest for a while. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! This chapter is... Pretty intense. The tags are the same but Lucifer is in the one playing mind games at full force, and there's some pretty graphic descriptions of sexual assault so do be careful. Currently I don't have a summary at the end but I can definitely add one if anyone would like.

"No, absolutely not I am _way_ too tired for this," Crowley slapped the hand away from the collar of his shirt, tired and irritable. "It's been an _incredibly_ long day and I am not even close to in the mood. You can sit with me, or you can leave." 

Aziraphale paused. "Not in the mood?" 

"Got that right. Too tired. Not interested. Lay here nicely with me or go away." 

"I _am_ in the mood." 

"You have hands."

Aziraphale seemed more than a little put out by that suggestion. Crowley didn't really care. He laid back against the pillows, settled in comfortably, one hand by his side and one above the swell of his stomach. 

After the day he'd had, he'd earned some rest. Aziraphale and his pathetic seductive act could wait for another night. 

Crowley was _tired._ He was tired and he had missed having any sort of comfort, even though part of this felt very off, as though it was a sort of dream. 

Six months in was a long time, and he needed any comfort he could get. He didn't want to argue himself out of this. 

Aziraphale leaned back and rested his hand against Crowley's, "Well, if you insist, you are looking terribly exhausted."

"This whole growing the bloody end of the world is exhausting. And where the Heaven have you been the whole time?" 

Crowley rolled over onto his side, gazing up tenderly at the angel. "I've missed you." 

"I've had to stay away, dear. Busy with assignments. But I'm here now," Aziraphale replied earnestly.

"For more than just a quick shag this time? I'm starting to feel like your hellish sex doll as well as Satan's bloody incubator."

"Well, you've thoroughly rebuffed the quick shag, so I imagine we'll have to do something else," Aziraphale agreed.

Crowley smiled, tilted his head up and pressed a soft kiss to Aziraphale's plush lips. "I'm glad to hear it. I missed spending time with you."

"I'm here now, my sweet little snake," Aziraphale's hand traced the side of his face, brushed his red curls away. "Not going anywhere." 

Crowley couldn't help but shift a little closer, lean into the barely-offered embrace. Aziraphale made no protest, kissed the top of his head.

There was a little nagging voice in the back of Crowley's head, telling him something he had known for months. Telling him something that had been true for 6 months, but he didn't want to listen. This was more important to him. The small comfort brought to the situation as he laid on his side and let Aziraphale hold him, let the world and all of his troubles slip away was more important than whatever his brain was trying to tell him.

He didn't care. He was choosing this. This was what he wanted. 

He let himself be held tightly in Aziraphale's arms, closed his eyes and leaned into the feeling being cared for for the first time in 6 months.

"You're so tense, dear boy. When was the last time you relaxed properly?" Aziraphale asked, lips brushing Crowley's ears. "If you aren't too tired, I happen to know something that does tend to relax you _quite_ well."

"I said no sex, angel." 

"I'm not talking about sex. Not really. I'm saying I could… lend a hand." 

One of Aziraphale's hands trailed lower, over the bump of Crowley's stomach and drifted deliberately between his legs. 

Pushed two fingers against the spot that could expertly drive Crowley wild, then let his hand settle. "They say orgasms are immensely tension-relieving." 

"I… I suppose it couldn't hurt. I could be tempted. But I _do_ want some sleep tonight."

"Understood."

Before he knew it, Crowley was hauled up from where he laid against the silk sheets and rested on Aziraphale's lap. He leaned his head against the angel's shoulders, let Aziraphale gently nudge his legs apart, slip a hand under the sweatpants Crowley would never admit to wearing once he was no longer pregnant. 

The angel didn't waste time playing around, Crowley had said he wanted to sleep. His fingers were ruthlessly effective as they played against the demon's clit, a feeling which passed from mildly pleasant to infuriatingly intense far more quickly than anytime Crowley tried this himself. Within a few short minutes the overly intense feeling was climbing higher and higher in his stomach, Aziraphale's fingers expertly driving him closer and closer with each swipe.

Aziraphale was right, it felt _good_ , to be dragged closer and closer to slipping from the edge until he cried out, nails digging into Aziraphale's thighs as he toppled off the peak he had slowly climbed, entire body tensing up, writhing beneath Aziraphale's fingers as bliss overtook him. 

When he stopped shuddering, he looked down. "I know what your plan was," he mentioned. 

"Plan?" Aziraphale blinked, feigning innocence. Crowley tugged his sweats out of the way and flopped back down onto the bed, gazing up invitingly at the angel. 

"You figured you could get me in the mood by helping out and convince me to say yes to your earlier offer, and you pulled it off _splendidly._ C'm'ere before I change my mind and go to sleep." 

Aziraphale smiled at him, leaned down and rested an arm on either side of Crowley. The demon reached up, pulled his arms around Aziraphale's neck and kissed him again. 

It was something he'd wanted to do for six thousand years, so he did it again. 

He felt _soft,_ and normally it would have bothered him, _should_ have bothered him but Aziraphale was the softest creature on God's green earth and he wasn't going to worry about being a little soft himself.

Crowley eventually let his arms settle back down, Aziraphale's hands wrapped around his wrists. "This is getting to be quite the difficult task," he remarked, manuevering himself around Crowley's swollen middle. 

"Ow!" 

Crowley tried to flinch away from the rough intrusion, found that the hands on his wrists didn't let go, held him firmly in place. "Hey, that hurts!" 

There was no response. The hands on his wrists tightened and pulled on him in tandem with the rough, painful thrusts. "Ow! What are you doing?" 

Crowley tried to sit up, to push Aziraphale off and get away from the painful thrusts that felt like they were splitting him in two, but the grip on his right wrist shifted, twisted and held him in place, nearly at the breaking point. 

"Maybe now you'll think about who you're dealing with, snake."

Aziraphale, no, it had never been Aziraphale Crowley was a _fool_ to have believed it was Aziraphale, he knew that now as the illusion faded and black eyes bored down at him, twisted his wrist the final inch and Crowley cried out as it snapped under the pressure. 

He screamed even as the echoes reminded him that there was no one there to hear him.

"Stop! Don't- please don't-" 

He thrashed, tried to push himself away and a fist collided with his jaw. He threw his already injured arm up in front of his face to protect himself, a hand grabbed his swelling wrist and yanked it out of the way.

"When are you going to learn, _Crawley,_ that you don't tell _me_ to stop? That you don't tell _me_ no? You're _mine._ God threw you out just like the rest of us and now you're _mine._ I get to do what I want with you." 

Blood was dripping from Crowley's busted lip. One of his teeth felt looser than before. His tongue flicked out and swiped the blood away, desperate not to show a weakness, to show his pain.

Satan _liked_ that too much. 

His eyes, wide and scared, never left Lucifer's face. 

"Now," Lucifer shifted, forced himself back into Crowley, rough and angry and no longer even _pretending_ to care, and Crowley _howled_ , swore he felt something tear, "what am I to do with you? Such insolence can't be tolerated." 

Crowley was shaking, Lucifer slid back and slammed his hips back up into the demon. Crowley whimpered. He could feel tears burning his eyes and he squeezed them shut, hoping to stem the flow before Lucifer noticed. 

A set of sharp talons raked across his face. "You don't get to look away. You brought this on yourself." 

A hand closed around his throat, talons digging into the pale flesh of his neck, cutting off his breathing. Crowley didn't need to breathe, but he felt a twinge of fear when he remembered the characteristically human child growing inside him. 

It needed air. "Stop, you can't!" He choked on the words as the clawed hand pushed harder. "The- the Antichrist!" 

The hand loosened a little, Crowley gulped down a breath. "You can't hurt me it will hurt the Antichrist!" 

Lucifer glared down at him. "And why should I believe you really care about that?" He hissed, "I'm willing to restart this process. This time, though, I think you'll stay chained in my _office._ Such a pain to always come and find you." 

Crowley shook his head desperately. "No, no please don't," he begged, "please don't, just let this one stay!" 

He couldn't stand it if he had to restart. He had believed that Lucifer would protect the Antichrist but of course he wouldn't. He would gladly fuck another Antichrist into Crowley and hold him captive while it grew there. 

"Prove that you actually care. That you don't just want to spare yourself restarting this. Prove that you _care_ about our son, Crawley." 

"Anything!' Crowley wailed, trembling. 

"What have you called him?"

"I'm not the one who gets to name him!" The demon said desperately, more tears welling in his eyes. 

"All good, caring mothers have a name for the child before it's born. What have you called it? If you cared, you'd have a name," Lucifer hissed. 

It was nothing but a game, Lucifer _knew_ he hadn't named it but he had to see how convincingly he would lie. He would get away with it if he had a convincing lie. 

"I- I call him Adam!" He cried, and Lucifer suddenly halted all movement. He nearly sobbed with relief as the tearing and bruising stopped for a moment. 

"Why?" 

Crowley sniffled, lips trembling. "It- it's an important name to me!" He replied, frantically trying to think of _why_ Adam had come to mind. "First temptation! I would call a girl Eve! Because it- it was the first time I did something _right_ for you and this-" 

He nearly vomited spitting out the last of the phrase. "This is the reward. It's only fitting!" 

There was a moment of consideration. "That will do. Adam." 

The clawed hands gently carrassed the swell of Crowley's stomach as Lucifer said the name, and then it moved and grabbed Crowley's injured wrist. "I'll leave the Antichrist be. But _never_ assume I can't hurt you no matter _what_ condition you're in. You are _nothing."_

Crowley sobbed, Lucifer resumed forcing himself upon the demon, breath speeding up and hot against Crowley's face, thrusts getting faster and more erratic. 

Lucifer had never done this without the illusion. Crowley tried to push himself backwards on his heels, Lucifer grabbed onto his wrist and yanked him back down. 

He let himself get distracted by the pain, to take his mind off of Lucifer's breathing starting to stutter, his snarl as he came. 

Like a fool, Crowley thought it would be over when Lucifer had taken his pleasure. 

He squeaked and sobbed in protest when Lucifer yanked him across the bed by his broken wrist and struck him again and again and again. 

Crowley woke up and wished he hadn't. 

The sheets smelled of sex and sweat and blood, his head was pounding something fierce. When he shifted, he put too much weight on his wrist and white-hot agony flared all the way up his arm. He cried out, collapsed back into the heap of sweat and blood he had slept in, breathing heavily and choking down tears. 

He had to do something about this. He lifted his left hand, snapped his fingers and felt a jolt when the Antichrist was growing, and nothing else happened. 

His wrist didn't straighten, the blood crusted under his nose didn't clean itself away. 

He felt tired and drained of all power. He could do nothing to heal himself, nothing at all. 

He stared at his right hand, the overly swollen joint and the way his thumb would no longer sit straight without hurting. 

Stared at the last three fingers, the bloody, stumped ends that stung with no outside prompting, the angry, red, bloody patches sitting where his fingernails were supposed to. 

He forced himself to lift his head, to slide out of bed. The stickiness between his legs didn't worry him like it had last time. He knew part of it was blood, but he knew it wasn't there because of a miscarriage. Knew it was there because Lucifer had _torn_ him down there, rougher and angrier than he had been before. 

He walked into the bathroom, pulled out a roll of bandages and wrapped each of his bloodied fingertips, which hurt worse than they had exposed to the air but he figured they would get better. 

Didn't look at himself in the mirror. He didn't need to see the black eye, bloody nose or split lip last night's attack had left him with. He had bruises on his thighs and arms, vibrant and purple and painful without even being touched. 

Without miracles, the smart thing to do would be to see a doctor. Doctor Azzad, for example, would want to know this had happened. 

But the smart thing to do wasn't the safest today. If he went to the hospital like this, it would be _obvious_ that he was in danger at home and he would be no safer wherever the doctors and counsellors tried to place him and didn't want to deal with the stress of being uprooted. 

And x-rays, as his wrist would require, weren't good for pregnancies. They didn't mix well the last Crowley had checked and he wasn't willing to risk it. The parasite- Adam, as he had called it last night, was more important than his wrist. 

He looked up how to splint something at home on his phone, managed to find some supplies that would do the trick and wrapped up his wrist. 

Finally dared to look in the mirror. 

His hair was a mess, full of blood and sweat and semen, he needed a shower but had just wrapped his injuries. His nose was no longer bleeding, but blood was crusted underneath it and dripped down his chin, and it was mishappen and swollen. The blood on his mouth had smeared across his cheek, there were two bruises so dark they were almost black, one around each eye. 

There were three long, deep gashes across the middle of his face from where Lucifer had scratched him, a bite on his throat, another on his left breast, that one deep enough to have broken skin. 

And he could do nothing about it. He had _earned_ this and he was best just to forget it had happened. To live with the consequences and learn from his own mistakes. 

If he didn't learn, next time, he wouldn't be so lucky.


	10. Chapter 10

Crowley did not want to be out driving. 

Preferably, they wanted to be curled up in bed with the stereo blaring anything but Freddie Mercury.

Actually, it could play Freddie Mercury if it played his solo albums. Just not Queen.

Bad enough to still be getting sent out on assignment. 

Crowley had been sent to  _ Scotland.  _ Hastur  _ knew  _ they couldn't perform miracles, couldn't get themself there in a timely fashion, knew that the Antichrist could arrive any day and that Braxton-Hicks contractions were driving Crowley absolutely insane with worry and just general pain, but he was still intent on sending the serpent to Scotland. 

Because, and this was key, really, no one actually  _ cared  _ about Crowley's wellbeing. Hastur didn't give a shit that they could barely walk, barely fit behind the wheel of their car, Crowley had a  _ job  _ to do.

So they didn't get a choice. 

They were on their way out of the foggy city of London when an  _ idiot,  _ unfortunately an idiot they had known for six thousand years, ran out in front of the Bentley. 

They slammed on the breaks, pitched forwards into the steering wheel and immediately rolled down their window. "Aziraphale! What the Heaven are you doing?"

"I haven't seen you in months!" Aziraphale replied, sounding rather indignant. "I recognized your car and figured since we were going in the same direction, we could catch up." 

Crowley rolled the window most of the way back up when Aziraphale walked over, and the angel found they were quite a bit more tinted than normal. He could only see Crowley's black sunglasses through the gap, and Crowley planned to keep it that way. "I'm not giving you a ride, angel! How long,  _ exactly,  _ has it been since I told you I needed to be left alone?" 

"Seven months and two days," Aziraphale replied, prim and proper and clearly thinking that was enough to have Crowley agree. 

"Right. And how long,  _ exactly,  _ did I tell you I needed?"

"Seven and a half months."

"So by my calculations that leaves twelve days," Crowley replied irritably, "so no ride, stay out of my way."

"Crowley, you can't honestly be serious about this! It's been more than long enough!" 

"No angel, it has not. And I have business in Scotland that I need to get to. Now, unless you're going to offer to do it for me, I suggest you leave me be," Crowley snapped. 

"I'll go to Scotland if you tell me why you've been avoiding me!" 

"I don't have time for this."

Crowley moved to roll up the window, Aziraphale noticed they did it with their left hand instead of right and then saw the makeshift splint Crowley had wrapped around their right wrist. "What did you do?" The angel asked, sticking his fingers in the way of the ascending window and try as they might, Crowley couldn't make themself crush them.

"It's nothing, Aziraphale," Crowley pulled their wrist away from view, tried to flick the angel's fingers off their window. "I slipped, is all." 

"Why haven't you healed it, Crowley?" 

"Been doing a lot of miracles lately, Hell told me off about it so I left it. Don't  _ worry  _ about it, Aziraphale, now can I get going? I have nothing to explain for you so I guess I'm off to Scotland." 

"Crowley!" 

"Goodbye angel!" Crowley cranked up their window, forced Aziraphale pull his fingers out of the way. He only did it because he knew the angel  _ would  _ move. 

There was a limit to Aziraphale's concern, otherwise known as the limit to his care. 

Crowley already  _ knew  _ no one  _ actually  _ cared about their well-being. Not even Aziraphale. They left the angel spluttering on the side of the road and sped off. 

They had best just get all of this over with. 

The drive to Scotland was long and hot and unpleasant and not designed to be made by someone who was nearly nine months pregnant. Crowley had a number of complaints and a number of things they  _ would  _ say to Hastur if their due date wasn't so close. 

With their luck, Hastur would  _ remember  _ and punish them for it after the Antichrist was born.

They had not told Doctor Azzad they were going to Edinburgh. In fact, they had not been back to see Doctor Azzad since the first time after they had broken their wrist. 

The doctor had wanted to x-ray, Crowley had outright refused. She had assured them that proper precaution could be taken to keep the baby safe, but Crowley  _ knew  _ x-rays were dangerous to some degree while pregnant and the Antichrist was more important than their broken wrist. 

Then she had called another counsellor, because she had refused to believe that Crowley had simply fallen, and this time managed to say she believed Crowley and the baby were in danger and went and got the  _ police  _ involved. 

Apparently, there was a limit to every oath. The doctors would keep Crowley's secrets if they thought the demon was in direct danger. 

Which they were, but there was nothing a human could do about it. According to the book of Revelations, it was only the Archangel Michael who really could, and she wouldn't give enough of a damn about a lowly demon to try. 

They were well and truly on their own, and it had taken two weeks to get the police off their back so they had refused to go back to Doctor Azzad after that. 

Crowley needed medical advice, not a rescue from something she couldn't rescue them from. If she wouldn't give the one without the other, they wouldn't see a doctor. It was as simple as that.

The radio was blaring  _ Keep Yourself Alive,  _ and Crowley was speeding along to Edinburgh. The longer they wasted in Scotland the less rest they got before the ordeal of giving birth, and they wanted to make this as quick as possible.

Of course, with no miracles, they wound up in a cheap hotel they managed to pay for by check and tip with the couple of pounds they found in the Bentley. 

Crowley normally just summoned money. They still weren't used to having to carry the damn stuff around with them everywhere they went. 

To be fair, this arrangement should only have to last one night, and then they could drive back to London and relax where they didn't really need hundreds of pounds to throw around. 

Crowley wasn't even one hundred percent sure what they were doing in Edinburgh. Something to do with a politician who was too righteous for Hell's liking. Crowley was  _ supposed  _ to tempt him into sin, which Hastur had made a snide comment or two about. 

Crowley had done their best to ignore Hastur, and pointed out that swollen feet and weight gain normally didn't do much to seduce human men. 

Hastur, at that point, had made it seem like he had never meant that Crowley should seduce the politician and insinuated it was what the serpent  _ wanted  _ to do, and Crowley had left before Hastur had finished giving instructions, sick to their stomach at the implications. 

So they didn’t have a clue what they were supposed to  _ actually _ be doing in Scotland. They were currently laying on their musty hotel bed, listening to a rerun of  _ Golden Girls  _ on television while they stared at the ceiling, watching a ceiling fan spin around and around and around. It was a hot August day and there was no air condition in the hotel Crowley had managed to afford, they had stripped off their normal lightweight coat and threw it at the closet, laid down on their back until they remembered that they weren’t supposed to do that, it was bad for the Antichrist. 

They weren’t allowed to even lie on their back, lest they squish the bloody umbilical cord. 

Crowley rolled onto their side irritably, closed their eyes, and went to sleep. 

The morning did not look any better when Crowley woke up and struggled her coat back on, walked out into the lobby, wobbling back and forth a little bit. 

Braxton-Hicks contractions were driving her absolutely batty, and she really needed to get this over and done with. Find the politician, tempt him into something nefarious and uninventive and get back to London to sleep in her own bed. 

With a little bit of luck, she would even get to have the bed to  _ herself  _ until the Antichrist was born, and then again  _ permanently  _ once it was out of her. Lucifer would have no reason to continue visiting once the Antichrist was breathing on his own and not taking up residence in an unwilling demon’s insides. 

Why would Lucifer continue coming back to her? He has no real interests in Crowley, he just continued to come back to make this worse for her. He only wanted her to suffer and once she was uninvolved with the process, he would lose interest in her. 

She would soon be free, but first, she had to find the politician and tempt him into sin. She couldn’t go back to London without having completed the temptation, Hastur would have more than something to say about that once the Antichrist was born. He couldn’t do anything  _ right now _ , but Crowley was quickly running short on her immunity. As soon as she  _ wasn’t _ pregnant, she was fair game to be tormented however Hastur or his cohorts decided was fit. 

Crowley didn’t normally indulge in food, that was Aziraphale’s deal, but with how poorly everything else was going, a spot of breakfast couldn’t hurt. 

Thankfully, for all the things that weren’t present in the hotel, there  _ was _ a continental breakfast. She walked over in that direction, a few people moved themselves out of the way, allowing the clearly heavily pregnant woman who was making her way over. 

Crowley didn’t protest, she gladly used some of the only privilege this condition offered her to load a plate of bacon, sausage and waffles, and pour herself a glass of orange juice.

There was very little room to sit, however Crowley was still offered a seat with very minimal cooing, comments or questions. Although she was getting used to constant query, it didn’t get any easier to put up with, given  _ how _ she had gotten into her position. 

She gave a few glances around her as she wolfed down her meal, saw people whispering, speculating. 

“You’re not from around here, are you, dearie?” An elderly woman asked, walking over and sitting across from Crowley, much to her annoyance. 

“I’m from London,” Crowley confirmed, stuffing a piece of waffle in her mouth. She was no Aziraphale with his food, but she did enjoy a good waffle drenched in syrup. “Here for business.” 

“So close to when the baby is due?” The woman asked, raising a grey eyebrow. “You’re very brave, dear, I wouldn’t have left London in your condition. I’m Mary, can I get your name?” 

Of  _ course _ her name was Mary. Of course, the girl, who now was Crowley’s alternate in history, by all technicalities, had been named Myriam, but a great portion of the Western World called her Mary. 

Mother Mary. The Virgin Mother Mary.

Crowley doubted the terms for her would be as loving.

And they wouldn’t include any words referring to  _ purity. _

“I’m sorry if I’ve intruded somehow, miss, I-”

“Antonia,” Crowley replied automatically. It wasn’t perfect, but it was easier than dealing with old people staring at her like she had a third eyeball when she told them her name was Anthony while she was clearly presenting more feminine. 

Humans were incredibly narrow-minded. 

“Antonia is a lovely name, it’s been a long time since I’ve heard it. Are you an Anne, or a Tony?” 

“Neither. I go by Crowley,” she replied, taking another bite of her waffle. “Never been one for first names.”

“I see. Your wrist looks bad, Miss Crowley, has someone taken a look at it?” Mary asked, concern edging into her voice. 

“Yes,” Crowley lied, “I’ll be getting it seen to when the baby’s born, they told me it was too risky to deal with it while I was pregnant. Might need surgery or something like that, and they don’t want to put me under.”

The lie came easily, although she didn’t know where it came from. It wasn’t something she had planned out before, but it slipped off her tongue without any thought. “So they splinted it the best they could and sent me on my way. I’m meant to go back in when it’s all over.” 

“When the baby’s born, you mean?” 

“Exactly,” Crowley agreed. 

The woman smiled. “You’re a very brave mother, Miss Crowley. Not a lot of women would travel for business in your condition, and even fewer would suffer through the sort of pain you must be in to protect the baby. Are you having a boy or a girl, my dear?”

“A boy,” Crowley replied, mysteriously unaffected by the questioning, no matter how close it struck to home. “Adam.”

Mary smiled again. “Adam. It’s a beautiful name, for what I’m sure will be a beautiful little boy.” 

Crowley doubted  _ that _ very much. The baby, by design, would look like his father. Not like Crowley. 

He wasn’t  _ supposed _ to resemble his mother. There would be no ginger curls, no snake eyes to hide behind sunglasses, no sharp edges that didn’t come from Lucifer himself. 

In short, he would be his father’s son. Not his mother’s, and Crowley couldn’t be more relieved of the fact. 

She swallowed the last of her waffles, drank the remainder of her orange juice. 

Smiled at Mary. “Thank you, Mary, but I really must be going. The sooner I can get my business done, the sooner I can return to London and rest up.”

Mary smiled even wider. “Of course, Miss Crowley, don’t let me hold you up. Get about your business dear, and you get yourself back home. Don’t want to be far from home when young Adam makes his appearance.” 

Crowley nodded, stood herself up carefully from the table and made her way to leave the dishes at the appointed counter. 

Then she made her way out to the Bentley, forcing herself to walk through another bloody Braxton-Hicks contraction as she exited the hotel. 

This one was worse than before, but by her calculations she still had two weeks until the due date, and the Antichrist needed all the time, and infernal strength, he could sap from Crowley. He wouldn’t be born early. 

She still believed that when she felt a slight pop below and there was  _ something _ running down her legs, gushing more and more with each step she took. 

She stared down, saw the liquid staining her black skirt, pouring down onto the pavement. She couldn’t  _ stop _ it, and all at once it occurred to her what it was. 

She was too late to make it back to London and rest, maybe even too late to make it to the birthing hospital in Tadfield.

Her water had broken. 

The Antichrist was about to be on Earth, breathing of his own accord.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Birth time, so watch out if that's not your thing, I don't wanna say it's suuuuuper graphic but it's not skimmed over!

Crowley stumbled over to the Bentley, trying to ignore the fluid still gushing down her legs. The last thing she wanted to do was get into the Bentley, she was well aware that things only got messier from here, but she needed to try to get back to Tadfield. 

She unlocked the door, sat in the driver’s seat and turned onto the radio. “Dagon?” 

She waited for a voice to answer her. 

“Report, Crowley. Are you on your way to Tadfield, Hastur says you’re meant to be.”    
Crowley sighed. “Bloody  _ Hastur. _ Yes Dagon, I’m on my way to Tadfield, from  _ Edinburgh. _ Hastur sent me to Scotland yesterday.” 

Dagon was silent for a moment. “You’re in Edinburgh.” 

“Yes, and an unexpected consequence of being pregnant with the Antichrist is that-”

“Is that you can’t do miracles. I heard about that,” Dagon agreed. There was another pause. 

“Any chance of an extraction or am I driving all the way to Tadfield and  _ trying _ to make it there before the Antichrist arrives?” 

Dagon flipped through a couple of papers. “There’s no one we can send to your whereabouts, Crowley. You’re going to have to try to get there on your own. If the Antichrist is born before you make it to Tadfield, then so be it, just drive the baby to the hospital and hand it over to the nuns, and then meet Hastur and Ligur in the cemetery as planned.” 

“Right. I’d best be on my way, Dagon,” Crowley muttered. 

“Do hurry back, Crowley. I'll have a word with Hastur, there were orders from above not to send you out of London for the last two weeks."

"Dagon if you tell him I complained-"

"I won't, I'll say I remarked on where you were," Dagon replied, "now put your foot down and get going." 

Crowley didn't need to be told twice. She flicked the radio off, which flicked back on with a Queen song moments later, pushed in the clutch and shot off out of the parking lot. 

It was a six and a half hour drive to Oxford from Edinburgh. If the labor pains would lay off for six and a half hours then Crowley could get herself to the hospital and finish giving birth there instead of on the side of the bloody road. 

She got out of Edinburgh as quickly as they could. In fact, she had made it most of the way to the outskirts of the city before another contraction gripped her and she just about jerked the car off the motorway, an involuntary cry of pain forcing its way from her throat. Her fingers clenched hard around the steering wheel, she grit her teeth and forced her eyes to stay open, not to be distracted by the overwhelming pain and to just keep driving. 

It only lasted a couple of seconds, and then the all-consuming pain laid off. Crowley took a deep breath and steadied herself on the road. 

She couldn't afford to slow down, not yet. She wasn't even out of Edinburgh. She had to keep moving. She had to get the Antichrist to the birthing hospital. There would be no stopping, no taking a breather after contractions. 

She pushed her foot down and set the wheels straight. She had to keep moving. 

The next contraction was worse, nearly pulled her off the road again, crying out and swerving on the motorway, getting honked at by an oncoming car. 

But at least there was a half hour break between that and the next one. Crowley knew they would be speeding up, knew she had to move as fast as she could but after she nearly swerved off the road  _ again  _ she was forced to slow down. 

She couldn't keep speeding around if she wanted to keep control of the Bentley, and she couldn't slow down if she wanted a chance to get back to London on time. 

The drive was a lot worse than Crowley remembered, although that might have been due to increasing contractions. By the time she had been driving for a few hours they were happening every ten or so minutes, just long enough in between for her to relax and breathe and think that maybe she could make it before another gripped her full force. 

She was never going to make it. 

Crowley hadn't quite finished convincing herself of that by the time the contractions were four minutes apart. 

Numb, it occurred to her that she was supposed to be at the hospital no later than five minutes apart, and this time she had to stop on the side of the motorway during a contraction and she couldn't make herself start driving again. Her hands shook violently as she tried to shift back into gear, her foot slipped off the clutch as she tried to press it down. The Bentley growled at her for trying to shift it so violently, and utterly refused to move forward. 

She tried to shift out of neutral again, the radio flared up at her and the car refused to move. 

_ It's the terror of knowing what the world is about _

_ Watching some good friends screaming _

_ "Let me out!" _

"Oh, shut up, you stubborn sonofabitch," Crowley hissed, tried one more time to get the car into first and then gave up. 

She was no more than a half-hour's drive from Tadfield now, and she wasn't going  _ anywhere. _

She pulled the keys out of the ignition and leaned the seat back, which didn't really help the pain when it came back in full force a few seconds later. 

Crowley screamed, it was a wonder the humans didn't hear her as they drove passed her car with no sign of slowing down. 

Everything hurt, worse than Crowley had ever realized it would, and she got no chance to properly rest, gasp for air and catch her breath before she was gripped by the next contraction. This time she bit into her knuckles to try to keep from screaming, which didn't work in the slightest and left her with blood in her mouth. 

They were getting quicker and quicker and Crowley was getting more and more tired. She had no idea what she was supposed to do, so she laid in the seat as wave upon wave of mind-consuming pain crashed down on her, sweat beaded on her forehead and upper lip and she screamed her voice hoarse.

And  _ still,  _ there was no repose. There was nothing more than a chance to gasp for air and silently beg for mercy she wouldn't get,  _ of course  _ the Serpent of Eden wouldn't see mercy during childbirth, cry out through her teeth as contraction after contraction tore through her, until her body  _ forced  _ her to push along with it. 

There was no way she could survive this. She would be discorporated for sure, there was no way humans could live through this pain. Crowley thought back to every birth her occasionally female presentation had forced her to be a part of, and she couldn't imagine how those women had lived. 

It felt like she was being ripped apart, it felt like every muscle in her body was on fire. She no longer got a break between contractions, they seemed to come in an endless wave of pain. 

Crowley dug her fist into the seat, felt her fingernails pop through the leather as all of her pushing finally  _ amounted  _ to something. 

Something had been pushed out. Not all the way, but something  _ was  _ protruding. 

And it only made her panic  _ more. _

The baby was  _ coming. _ More than coming, it was part of the way here. Crowley cried out again, kicked her foot against the dashboard. 

_ I’ve been beaten,  _

_ I’ve been cheaten,  _

_ I’ve been treated bad and- _

“Shut up!” Crowley snarled, letting out another shriek of anguish. “Shut up, shut up shut  _ up  _ you stupid stupid car!” She screamed, kicking the dashboard again and hearing something crack. 

Crowley didn’t really know how long she laid there, in agony, pushing against an immovable force, something she just couldn’t win against and then…

And then it was over. There was something crying, and while the pain didn’t fade, it slowed a little, and Crowley could breathe. 

Crowley was also crying, she realized, offhandedly, that tears were pouring down her cheeks as she laid against the back of the chair, tipped her head back and cried. 

After a while, she sat up a little, with shaking hands she lifted the bloodied Antichrist from where he was still crying on the front seat, wrapped it in her black suit jacket and grabbed a bit of her shoelace to tie off the umbilical cord. She severed it with her teeth as she had nothing else to cut it with. Blood filled her mouth and the Antichrist cried even louder. 

She instinctively held the Antichrist against her chest, even as pain still ripped through her. 

Then she had a look at the Antichrist. She had to make sure he was alright, that all would now go according to plan and this could all be over. 

She carefully moved her jacket out of the way, checked the Antichrist over for imperfections, things that would alert its human parents of what it was.

Even more relieving than the absence of horns or hooves or a tail was that it didn't look like Crowley. She couldn't see herself anywhere in its little cherubim face, golden hair or blue eyes. 

She was nowhere to be seen in the Antichrist. Crowley felt that she had never been more grateful for anything in her entire life.

She had feared the entire time that something would be wrong, she had never stopped to consider that the Antichrist might have resembled its mother. Had never stopped to wonder how she would handle it if a little red-haired infant was what she was holding in her arms, or if it had shared her eyes. 

She sobbed, agony, relief and the pain of everything she had gone through and still not fully allowed herself to grieve twisting into one as she cradled the Antichrist against her chest. 

Once she started crying, she couldn't stop. 

Crowley didn't know how long she laid there crying with the Antichrist in her arms. When she came back to her senses, her radio was yelling at her. 

"Crowley! The American Ambassador's wife is at the hospital and the nuns tell me you're nowhere to be seen! Did something go wrong?" Dagon demanded, "The Mother Superior was expecting you hours ago!" 

Crowley coughed, letting Dagon know she could hear what was happening, tried to speak but her voice was hoarse. 

"Crowley is the Antichrist alive?" 

Crowley was still bleeding. A certain numbness was pulling at her senses, she felt far away from herself. Blackness pulled at her vision. She felt dizzy. 

"Y- yes," she managed to say, not managing to sit up. 

"Well, get it to the hospital!" 

"Can't," Crowley slurred, vision starting to tunnel for a few seconds before she managed to regain her focus. "Gonna discorporate."

There was no way that  _ wasn't _ what was happening. After all, Crowley was still bleeding, she could feel the stickiness of all she had lost against the front seat of the Bentley, there was too much. She had lost too much, she was too weak to get herself to the hospital. The blood was still trickling down between her legs, sapping more and more at her strength. 

"Crowley, you have to. Hastur and Ligur are too far away to come get you. Put the Antichrist in a basket and drive to the hospital. If you discorporate there, we'll expedite the paperwork to get you a new one but you need to get there. The exchange must take place."

Crowley did not remember getting a basket, but when she turned her head to the passenger's seat there was one lying there. Clumsily, she laid the Antichrist inside of it, still wrapped up in her coat, and used the seatbelt to make the basket stay in place. 

She lifted the seat back up, her cry of pain as she readjusted sounded more like a child's wail than the cry of a wounded animal, what she normally sounded like. 

She set her teeth, ignored the crack in the dashboard and forced the Bentley into first gear. The car snarled and howled in protest at her rough shifting, and every change of gears was a fresh jolt of pain, but she got the car back onto the motorway and headed for the hospital. 

By the time she made it, she barely got out of the car before she collapsed onto the ground, basket in hand. 

"Miss? Is everything alright?" 

A man ran up to her, and then started calling for nuns when he realized the state Crowley was in. 

A nun Crowley didn't recognize rushed over to her. "Master Crowley?" 

She knelt down beside the demon, who shoved her hands away when she tried to get a sense of what was wrong. 

She turned back to the man, who must have been the diplomat. "Where's it happening?" 

"Um… they have my wife in room three," the man replied. 

Crowley turned back to the nun. "Take the baby to room three," she hissed. 

The nun grabbed the basket and got to her feet, and everything went black. 

Crowley awoke lying on her back in a hospital gurney. There was a steady beeping coming from a machine above her head. 

"Lord Hastur, Master Crowley reportedly collapsed the moment she got here. Sister Mary Loquacious took the baby to help with the switch, and Sister Monica brought Master Crowley into the hospital," the Mother Superior was explaining. "She appeared to have lost a lot of blood. We found afterwards that she hadn't yet shed the placenta. I doubt she remembers, but she has now and should be doing significantly better. She shouldn't have driven here with labor pains still happening." 

"Right. So Crowley's fine now?" Hastur didn't seem particularly interested. 

"Well, she did just give birth, and contrary to my predictions, birth does not appear to have treated her kindly." 

"She's the Serpent of Eden, course it didn't," Hastur scoffed, "even a demon knows what  _ she  _ caused all of womankind."

Hastur walked over to Crowley and poked her shoulder. She winced. 

"So you're awake then, are you?" 

Crowley nodded, which somehow also managed to hurt. 

"Word got back to Beelzebub that I sent you out of the country. You wouldn't be responsible for that, would you?" 

Crowley shook her head. 

"You're a shitty liar, Crowley. You should be careful. You're not invulnerable anymore," Hastur warned, "but either way, the order has come that you're to be given a month to recover, although I'm not sure what from, besides dramatics. The Mother Superior says you suffered, but I l've always thought humans were dramatic little things, going on and on about the pain. Either way, I'll be back tomorrow to explain your assignment, but Dagon and Beelzebub seem to think you need rest."

"Assignment?" Crowley repeated, looking up at the Duke of Hell in confusion. "Just finished my-"

"You have another. There won't be any breaks after the one you're getting, not until after the war. Armageddon is coming, Crowley. There's no time for slacking. Preparations must be made, and the birth of the Antichrist is only the beginning. You'll have more to do." 


	12. Chapter 12

Crowley did not particularly feel better when he woke up and was informed that he had been asleep for three days. 

Hastur had left after telling him that he looked proper shit, and while he had  _ said _ he would be back the next day to explain the next assignment, the nuns didn't remember seeing him. 

Crowley had to wonder what Hastur had  _ expected  _ him to look like a couple of hours after birthing the Antichrist. Then again, Hastur seemed to think that the entire female sex was making up how bad labor pains were, and Crowley knew first hand how inaccurate  _ that  _ was. 

He hurt  _ a lot _ , and as of yet his ability to consciously do miracles hadn't been restored, so he couldn't just get rid of the parts of himself that hurt so much.

The nuns had tried to insist that Crowley say, but the Serpent knew that was only because the second he left, the order had been commanded to dissolve, so he paid them no mind and set out, reaching the Bentley to find yet another problem with not being able to do a miracle on purpose. 

There was still blood and things that  _ weren't  _ blood all over the leather seats of the Bentley, and rather than play a song to bitch at him, the car simply chirped some static the moment Crowley started it. 

There was a crack in the tachometer, a hole punched in the leather where Crowley's fingers had been gripped and the seat itself was sticky when Crowley made himself sit down, wincing in pain and disgust. 

Crowley stared down at the blood and birth all over the seat and snapped his fingers. 

Nothing happened. 

He grit his teeth and pushed the car into first gear, then dialled an old familiar number on his cellphone. 

It rang twice before the person he was waiting for picked up. "A. Z. Fell and Co., I'm afraid we're most definitely closed." 

"Aziraphale. It's me. We need to talk." 

"Crowley?" 

"Who else would it be? Listen, angel, we need to talk."

"You said that already," Aziraphale said primly. Crowley grit his teeth. "Why don't you come here for some tea and we can catch up, unless you're going to insist on getting your last seven days away from me." 

Crowley huffed. "I can't come over, we have to talk on the phone." 

Not this soon after giving birth, not without miracles to make himself look normal again. He couldn't disguise himself from Aziraphale just yet. 

Aziraphale didn't seem pleased with that arrangement. "So you  _ are  _ still avoiding me." 

"Just a little longer, angel," Crowley said exasperatedly, "listen, I'm not even in London at the moment. I can't get to the bookshop, and this is important. I'm calling about-"

"Armageddon. I know. Gabriel came to visit, I assume the Antichrist has arrived, although he didn't say so in as many words." 

Crowley took a deep breath. "We have to do something." 

"Crowley! I will  _ not  _ go against the Great Plan. We've known this was the end since the very beginning," Aziraphale scolded. 

"You didn't even hear me out!" 

"And I don't want to!" 

To Crowley's surprise, Aziraphale immediately hung up the phone. 

About halfway back to London, Crowley finally managed to get the blood off the seat and shift some things on his corporation. He still hurt, more metaphysically than physically, but it did feel a little better not to have the parts he'd been stuck with for ten months and that were now rather sore. 

He still couldn't  _ really  _ control the miracles, but apparently he was thinking hard enough about it to have it happen by accident. The Bentley seemed pleased to no longer be soiled with afterbirth, and blood and pre-birth and everything else, although it was still irritable about the broken glass in front of the tachometer and didn't let Crowley do any passing on his way back to London. 

By consequence, it took him about twice as long to get to his flat in Mayfair and pass out in his own bed. 

He hoped for a dreamless sleep, and since when he woke up there was someone  _ else _ in the room with him, he supposed that was too much to ask for. 

"You've changed your corporation." 

"You did  _ not _ try to fool around with someone who just gave birth three days ago," Crowley mumbled, rolling over and burying his face in the pillow. 

He was ignored, but there was no evidence that anything had  _ actually _ happened so he stopped complaining anyways. 

"A wise idea. Warlock doesn't need any siblings. Could complicate things."

Crowley hoped Lucifer couldn't see his hands shaking. That wasn't why he had done it and the devil  _ knew  _ that but he had to ruin everything Crowley tried to do for himself. 

"Why are you here?" Crowley asked, a little snappish, and he immediately reprimanded himself. 

"I'm here to tell you about your next assignment."

"Thought Hastur was doing that." 

"Hastur's busy. You're to raise the Antichrist, Crowley." 

Crowley was silent for a moment. 

"Well, you didn't think anyone else was going to do it for you, did you? What sort of a deadbeat mother  _ are _ you?"

Crowley stared for a minute, trying to find the words to protest. "Eden doesn't make me the best influence for the child. There are other far more accomplished demons than me." 

"Eden, the sinful children you hid in Mesopotamia, that  _ awful  _ work of fiction you made every single human in the modern world study, the M25… your list of accomplishments is  _ quite  _ extensive. One of those little bastards you snuck onto the ark made  _ quite  _ a reputation when she was older. Earned us a lot of souls," Lucifer paused, "besides, I wouldn't want to separate Warlock from his  _ real mother." _

"I'm not his mother," Crowley said automatically. 

"You can change your configuration all you want, but 'father' is taken. That leaves mother for you." 

Crowley didn't appreciate that comment for a number of reasons, but he kept quiet. 

Lucifer would be going soon. The Antichrist was delivered, his new task assigned and the 'change in configuration' meant the devil wouldn't be interested in hanging around. 

Lucifer was a lot of things, but considering that he was insisting there had to be a mother and a father, Crowley didn't take him for a sodomite.

"Right. Is that all? I'd really like to get back to sleep, Hastur mentioned something about a month off?" Crowley said, feeling a little emboldened by his newfound safety. 

"Yes, I did authorize that, didn't I? But I think your mind is skipping a part of our visits," Lucifer replied, "get on your stomach."

Crowley stared at him in shock.

"Please, if changing things around downstairs was going to inconvenience me, I would simply order you to change it back. Now roll over." 

Crowley still didn't move. His breathing was starting to pick up and get frantic. 

Lucifer hissed, grabbed Crowley by the shoulder and flipped him roughly into his stomach. "What did the Good Lord say to you again?" He mused, voice shifting into a lighter, more pleasant sound, a sound Crowley  _ liked.  _ "On your belly you shall go? I think that suits this quite well." 

Lucifer's hands snaked around Crowley's waist and unfastened his belt.

"And just think. When our son destroys the world and makes it anew, and Hell triumphs over Heaven, we won't need you on Earth anymore. We could… reassign you to an office job. Working  _ under  _ me."

  
  


Crowley didn't leave his bed for two days after that, and it wasn't by choice. All the pain he was in redoubled after Lucifer's visit, and he was forced to lie in bed and silently contemplate how  _ wrong  _ he had been. 

There was  _ nothing  _ that was going to protect him from Lucifer. Nothing he could do, say or change that would make Lucifer leave him be. 

He was completely without options. 

When he did eventually stand up, he found a note on his dresser. 

_ Your assignment starts the moment your month's break ends. I think you would make an excellent nanny, don't you?  _

_ -L _

Crowley read the note three times before he crumpled it in his fist and threw it at the wall. 

Nanny. He was going to be forced to play  _ nanny _ for the son he didn't even want. He would never escape one part of this, Lucifer had made sure of that. 

And at the end of it all, he was doomed. He would either die by a celestial blade or be sentenced to service the devil for all time. 

Unless he could stop Armageddon, and he only knew one way to do that. 

He would need help. 

Despite the reaction he had gotten last time, Crowley grabbed his cellphone off the dresser and dialled Aziraphale's number. 

It only took a moment for the angel to pick up. "Crowley, I told you, I'm not interested. You said your piece and continuing to harass me about it is simply being selfish."

Crowley stopped short for a second. 

_ Selfish.  _ Wanting to save the world was  _ selfish.  _ Was he being selfish? Was it selfish not to want the world to end, not to want to be permanently reassigned in Hell and used however Lucifer saw fit for the rest of his existence? For the rest of all eternity? 

It was  _ selfish _ not to want to see the only safe place in all of creation destroyed? 

Maybe it was selfish, but Crowley couldn't back down. There wasn't another choice, he had to  _ try  _ to stop this. 

He couldn't last if this went on as planned. 

"I'm not calling about my idea, regardless of how good an idea it is," Crowley said, the aforementioned idea still forming in his head as he spoke. "I'm inviting you to lunch. I still owe you from… when was it?" 

"1793."

"The Reign of Terror! That's right. Was that one of ours, or one of yours?" 

"I can't remember. We had crepes!" Aziraphale replied, doubtlessly daydreaming about the crepes already. 

"Right. I'll pick you up and we'll go for lunch, alright?" 

Aziraphale paused a second. "And you promise me you've given up trying to convince me to help with your plan?" 

"Plan? What plan? This is just lunch, angel. A way to say hello and catch up after my bit of well-needed solitude. I'll be there in ten, alright?"

Crowley hung up the phone before Aziraphale could answer, forced himself to get changed from the same clothes he had worn home from the hospital and walked out to the Bentley. 

He took a look at the crack in the tachometer and the thumb hole in the seat, snapped his fingers and they both patched up nicely. 

Then he climbed in and sped off to Aziraphale's bookshop. 

It didn't take long to pull up in front of the bookshop. Crowley snapped his fingers to make sure Aziraphale wouldn't  _ see  _ anything off about him and walked up to the door. 

"Aziraphale!"

The angel spun around from where he was going through his books. "Crowley! It's good to see you. You look much better than last time I saw you, I take it Hell allowed you to fix your wrist?"

"Yeah. It's good to see you too, Aziraphale. Shall we be going?" 

Dining at the Ritz had been a suggestion Aziraphale had made back in the 1960s, and it had stuck with Crowley, so that was where he drove them. He didn't plan on eating anything, but Aziraphale could, pardon the pun, easily be buttered up with good food and wine. After a nice meal, with dessert, of course, Crowley would suggest they go back to the bookshop and crack open a bottle or three of wine. Aziraphale had a nice case of  _ Chateauneuf du Pape  _ hiding in the back, and Crowley had earned a drink after how he had spent his last ten months. He'd been sober for far too long. 

He watched Aziraphale savour his meal, taking his time with each bite like he always did. After six thousand years, it was something Crowley had come to find endearing, when he wasn't desperately plotting how he would avoid his own certain miserable fate. 

Right now he just needed things to keep moving. He needed Aziraphale back in the bookshop and sloshed enough to listen to his plan. 

The angel would give in. He always did. He had given in to the Arrangement, had even given in with the Holy Water he was so convinced Crowley would use to make an escape if things got bad. 

He would give in and help make it so that Crowley's own flesh and blood didn't end the world.

He had to believe that. Aziraphale had never let him down before, and he had to continue to believe that he wouldn't now. 

If he did… the consequences were unthinkable. 

He would convince Aziraphale. It was that simple. He had to convince Aziraphale. 

Everything would be alright if he could convince Aziraphale to help him. 

So he waited in silence, chin rested on his hand, as Aziraphale plucked his way through the slice of cake he had ordered. 

It seemed to take much longer than was typically, and Aziraphale was never quick to clear a plate. Crowley tried to be patient, but he was jittery and having a hard time sitting still for more reasons than nerves. 

He had been in pain since giving birth, and Lucifer had made it  _ far  _ worse. He couldn't get comfortable, not when every way he sat had him in pain. 

Finally, Aziraphale daintily ate the last piece of cake. "That was scrumptious," he declared, patting his mouth with a napkin. "Now, what are you in the mood for?" 

This was the part Crowley had planned for. "Alcohol," he declared, lifting up his unused spoon and hitting it against the edge of his empty water glass. "Quite  _ extraordinary  _ amounts of alcohol." 

They opted to walk back to the bookshop, Crowley would doubtlessly forget the Bentley was at the Ritz and find it outside his flat later, discussing what they would have to drink. Aziraphale mentioned the  _ Chateauneuf du Pape,  _ Crowley took the chance to push his agenda a little more. 

"They don't have any  _ Chateauneuf du Pape  _ in Heaven," he remarked, "or single-malt scotch, or cocktails with little umbrellas," he continued, ignoring the pain that walking in his normal swaggery way was putting him in. He had to keep up appearances or everything was lost. Aziraphale couldn't know about his personal stakes in this plan. "or any-"

"Crowley, I told you, I'm not interested." Aziraphale said firmly, turning to face him. "This is purely social. I am an angel, you are a demon, we're  _ hereditary  _ enemies. Get thee behind me, foul fiend!" Aziraphale declared as they reached the door of the bookshop.

For a split second, Crowley thought he was through and Aziraphale meant it, until the angel's face split into a grin as he opened the door. 

"After you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey if I'm back here before I post a chapter of A Modern Way of Living with the Truth please kick my ass in the reviews I'm not being mean to myself I just want to write that chapter.


	13. Chapter 13

"My point  _ is,"  _ Crowley said as he desperately tried to remember what his point was. "My point is-"

What  _ had  _ his point been? He was far less coherent than he should have been after the amount he had drank, and finally wasn't feeling as much pain as before, which was a relief, but he really couldn't remember what he'd been trying to say.

"My point  _ is,"  _ he started again, looking around for a clue. His eyes landed on a first edition of Jules Verne's  _ 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea _ , which shouldn't have inspired him, but it did. "Dolphins. That's my point."

After he said it, he was reasonably sure there were no dolphins prominently featured in the book. 

"Dolphins?"

"They've got-" he paused, scrambling for an idea of what he was trying to say, "-big brains. Brains the size of- damn big brains." 

Aziraphale nodded. 

"And whales! Brain city, whales," Crowley continued, waving his hands around. 

"Kraken," Aziraphale said darkly, making a face, "biiiiiig bugger. S'pposed to rise up, up to the surface, right at the end. When the sea boils."

"That's my point!" Crowley cried, grateful that Aziraphale managed to direct him back to his point. "Whole sea boiling! Everything turning into bouilla- bouya- boua- boya-"

"B- bou- bouv- bouilla-"

"Fish stew," Crowley said impatiently. He waved his hand around again, took another sip of his wine. "And everythin' else, too! All the gorillas! And whoops they say, sky's gone red and stars crashin' down and-" Crowley made a couple of explosion noises for good measure. "And what are they puttin' in bananas these days?" 

"All creatures," Aziraphale lamented, "great and small."

"And you know what's worse?" Crowley asked, sipping his drink, "when it's all over, you've got to deal with-" 

He threw the glass, it shattered against a bookshelf. "ETERNITY!" 

Aziraphale waved his hand and Crowley's wine glass reformed in his hand. "Watch the first editions, dear."

"Right."

"And what, pray tell, is your point with bringing up eternity?" Aziraphale queried. 

Crowley got up from his seat, rifled through Aziraphale's collection of playbills. 

"It won't be so bad, at first," he began, trolling through them until he came across one that would help his case. "But there's no Stephen Sondheim's first night in eternity, I'm afraid," he started, and Aziraphale made a face. "However, I have heard that your boss  _ really  _ loves  _ The Sound of Music _ ! Fancy spending eternity watching that?" 

"I don't like it anymore than you do. But I'm an angel! I can't dis- diso- not do what I'm told," Aziraphale said, looking downcast. 

_ No, of course you can't. You're an  _ angel,  _ holier than thou, aren't you. And what if your orders were to bear the Antichrist and be Satan's personal… assistant for the rest of eternity? Could you disobey  _ then? 

Aziraphale groaned. "I can't cope with this while I'm drunk. I'm going to sober up, and you should too." 

Crowley did not want to banish the alcohol from his system. He was finally not in pain, he was finally almost distracted from the horrors he was being put through. 

But if Aziraphale wanted them to be sober for this, he had best listen. "Fine."

All the pain returned sharp and hot when the wine left his system, Crowley hoped Aziraphale didn't notice the way he clung to the bookshelf to keep himself upright as he reacustomed to it. 

Aziraphale didn't remark on it. "Look, even if I wanted to, I couldn't help. I'm not allowed to disobey!" 

Crowley snorted. "What, and you think I am?" He asked, a funny look forming on his face before he could stop it. "My people are all for disobedience in broad terms. As long as it's humans disobeying. I'm no more supposed to touch this plan than you are. But what if you weren't interfering with the Divine Plan? What if you were thwarting a diabolical one?" 

Aziraphale shook his head. "It's still a part of the Divine Plan." 

"You're supposed to thwart the wiles of the evil ones whenever you can, right? How can you be sure that thwarting me  _ isn't  _ part of your orders? You see a wile, you thwart, am I right?" Crowley insisted. 

"Broadly. I actually encourage humans to do the thwarting-"

"The Antichrist has been born. But it's the upbringing that matters. The influences. Now, according to my orders, the evil influences are all going to be me. Would be a pity if… someone came along and made sure I failed…" 

Aziraphale pondered that while nervousness chewed at Crowley. "When you put it that way… Heaven couldn't really object if I was thwarting you…" 

"It'd be a real feather in your wing," Crowley agreed. 

He held out a hand. There was a bit more hesitation, then Aziraphale shook. 

"We'd be godfathers, sort of," he said, ignoring the fact that Satan seemed quite insistent that his title was a little more personal. 

_ Mother.  _

"Godfathers," Aziraphale whispered, "well, I'll be damned." 

"No," Crowley said quietly, looking down at his hands. 

Three of his fingernails were still shorter than the others. 

"Not even close."

It had to be a  _ Nanny _ . Of course it did. Crowley had gone for the most straight-laced, inscrutable version of a nanny she could find, and she still felt eyes glued to her as she walked down the hall, duffle bag and black umbrella in hand. 

Her hair was pinned up in curls, with a hat pulled down on top. Red lipstick would have gone best with her black, puff-shouldered blazer, red dress shirt, long black pencil skirt and red woolen stockings, but she had skipped it and gone for purple. It was less stereotypically tempting. 

Her eyes were covered by her typical sunglasses, she carried herself tall with her shoulders back and spine as straight as a snake could make it. 

She was following Harriet Dowling, who had Warlock Dowling, the Antichrist and Crowley's son, gathered in her arms. 

The last thing Crowley wanted to do was hold the child. She resented him for more reasons than she could count, and she wanted nothing to do with him, but she took him in her arms when Harriet Dowling offered him to her. 

He was warm, and she remembered holding him like this when he was first born. He had squalled and quickly settled then, which he did not do now. He fussed the entire time Crowley- Nanny Ashtoreth- as she had introduced herself, held her, which Harriet assured her was normal. He was a fussy child. 

It became the Antichrist to be fussy. 

Even without her miracle, Ashtoreth, or Nanny Ash, would have been hired on the spot. Crowley was good with children and despite Warlock's crying, it showed. 

Not to mention both Harriet and Thaddeus were desperate to pawn the child off on someone else. 

Crowley's earlier tempting of Thaddeus Dowling had been done to ensure Harriet was in a foul enough mood with him to do a bit of sleeping around before she calmed down. 

Warlock Dowling did not look like his father in the slightest and they both wanted to have him out of their sights to ensure they could forget that. 

There were lonely fates designed for both Crowley and her son, it seemed. 

The Dowling's were also in a hurry to hire someone since they planned on going on a trip to America to try to rekindle their very broken marriage. It put Crowley at an advantage which she took gratefully. 

And now, employed as the Dowling's nanny, she could rest easy and hope Aziraphale got his act together soon. 

It was a funny thing, a demon daring to hope. 

But Aziraphale arrived a few days later, in the single most obnoxious costume Crowley had ever seen, with buckteeth and messy sideburns, a sprig of grass between his teeth. 

Crowley would have rathered be the gardener, but her three shortened fingernails that she had just varnished a glossy black reminded her of what happened when she refused to do what Lucifer said. 

So if Lucifer left her a note saying she was to be a nanny, she had no other choice. She would be Warlock's nanny, and Aziraphale would do a terrible job looking after the Dowling's garden.

Aziraphale claimed he was good with plants, and that he was  _ better  _ than Crowley because he didn't yell at them, but Crowley had sat and watched as he waterboarded a bloody echeveria as he sat and praised it, so she knew she was going to have to look after the garden herself, as well as the Antichrist, just to make sure 'Brother Francis' kept his job. 

Succulents didn't  _ like  _ having puddles in their soil. Any idiot knew that, and though Crowley was especially fond of the quality of her ferns, she had a spread of succulents and cacti as well. 

She was very proud of her plants, but now she had a new job. 

She had to raise the Antichrist. She was almost never without him, either in a car seat, bassinet or in her arms, and she hated every second of it. She hated the warm, milky smell coming off the baby, and the way she had to stuff her bra with paper towel because bringing back her female form brought back other post-birth symptoms, like lactation, and Crowley couldn't have wet stains on her black blazer for Harriet  _ or  _ Aziraphale to see. 

So not only did Warlock smell warm and milky and soft, Crowley found  _ she  _ did too, at least before she used a heavy perfume that doused her senses almost entirely and assured her that no one else would notice. 

She hated that despite feeling no connection that she couldn't explain to Warlock, he felt  _ right  _ in her arms. The weight was even almost comforting, the way he squirmed against her chest. 

It reminded her of how he had squirmed while he was still inside her. 

Most of all, she  _ hated  _ how easily this came to her. She had always liked children, and shouldn't have been surprised, but looking after Warlock, rocking him as he cried and feeding him from a bottle, as Harriet had refused to breastfeed. 

Crowley was just grateful that the days of finding wetnurses were behind them by the twenty-first century. She had no doubt that Lucifer would have forced her to take  _ that  _ position, and she couldn't imagine trying to force herself to suckle the child as well as raise him and birth him. 

She didn't  _ want  _ to be connected to him. Not any more than she had to be. She didn't want to nurse him, she didn't even want to be cradling him in her arms as she plucked her way carefully across the lawn and out to the garden. 

She sat herself in the sun on the garden half-wall, took the bottle she had warmed up inside and offered it to Warlock, who was crying and had been for the last half hour. 

To her immense relief, now out in the sun and with new surroundings, Warlock's big blue eyes gazed around him for a moment and then he latched onto the bottle. 

Crowley breathed a sigh as she watched the infant suck on the bottle, listened to Aziraphale walk up behind her. 

He too, sat down on the half-wall. "We likely could have waited until the boy was older," he mentioned, glancing at the newborn laying in Crowley's arms. "There's not much influencing to be doing at the moment. You're the one who's seeing him, this is the first time I've met him since we were introduced." 

"It will be easier to get away with influencing when he's older if we have established reputations," Crowley replied, tipping the bottle up a little more so Warlock could get at more of the formula. She didn't want him gulping on air, last time he'd been gassy, he'd cried and fussed for hours and then spit up on Crowley's shoulder. "Besides, Hell wanted me here straightaway and it will be easier to say I don't believe Heaven is interfering if you've been here as long as I have, and don't just appear when the influencing can really begin." 

Aziraphale nodded, reached down and chuckled Warlock's chin when the boy finished with his bottle. "At least he'll be well familiar with us when we start trying to influence him, not that I think you need any help. You practically look like a natural!" 

Crowley stiffened. Her grip on Warlock shifted, the boy chuffed and fussed a little at the rougher way of holding him.

"Crowley? Is everything alright?" Aziraphale asked. 

"I… forgot to look after something inside. Now that he's quiet he can go down for his nap and I have things to get done. I'll see you later, Aziraphale."

Before the angel could argue, Crowley got back to her feet and headed back inside.

She was  _ not  _ a natural. She was  _ not  _ a natural, she could not be a natural. She had nothing to do with Warlock, and she deposited Warlock directly into his bassinet. Though he had to stay with her, she didn't want to be holding him anymore. 

She set him at her feet and took a seat, although she was twitchy and uncomfortable. 

Did other people think that, too?  _ Was _ Crowley a natural? Was it obvious that she had borne a child with how she acted? 

She watched Warlock sleeping soundly, anxiety gnawing at her stomach. She couldn't shake the feeling that everything was obvious and that she couldn't hide anything. 

Finally, after hours and hours more of tending to the boy, night fell and Crowley was able to take the baby monitor to her room and truly have some rest. 

She kicked off her shoes and left them at the doorway of her small flat that was just a short way down the hall from Warlock's room. She settled the baby monitor on the nightstand and unpinned her hair, resting her hat and blazer on the hooks beside the door. 

She unhooked her stockings and rolled them off, grateful to be rid of the scratchy wool, and sat down on the bed, still in her red silk shirt and black pencil skirt. 

She leaned back against the pillows, rested her sunglasses on the nightstand beside the baby monitor and closed her eyes. 

She was just opening them, deciding that she couldn't sleep just yet and would try to watch a movie, maybe an old James Bond film, when she realized someone was standing beside her bed. 

Her heart dropped to her stomach. This had become such a regular occurrence that she wasn't even surprised by the image of her friend who wasn't her friend at all, although she dreaded the encounter. 

When Lucifer tried to push her back onto the bed, Crowley pushed back a little and quickly found herself pinned with a hand at her throat. 

"You're not trying to refuse me again, are you?"

The voice was all wrong, Crowley shook her head firmly. 

"No, I just-" Lucifer pressed his hand a little harder against her throat, until she struggled to breathe. "Too soon after with this form- what if I…" 

Her voice trailed off as she forced her fingers to trail down to the fly of Aziraphale's trousers. 

Intrigued, Lucifer allowed her continue. When she finished unbuttoning his trousers she pushed them down and ducked her head, mouth slightly agape. 

"Oh, yes. I think we could work with that," Lucifer muttered, and suddenly jerked Crowley upwards and forced himself into her purple-painted mouth. "Good initiative. Good to see you actively partaking." 

Her pushed himself so far down her throat she choked, and he laughed and gasped as tears welled in Crowley's eyes and she fought not to recoil from the heady scent of him as he gripped her hair and slowly fucked her throat, forcing her to take him deeper than even her serpentine features would truly let her. She choked and gagged and cried as he refused to stop his brutal thrusts, pulling her down on his cock until her throat convulsed around him and she almost threw up. 

He spilled in her mouth and didn't pull out until she swallowed it down, when he smiled, withdrew and stroked her hair. Crowley fought down sobs, trying not to let drool and semen slip down her chin as her mouth hung open, she couldn't bring herself to close it. She still felt she might throw up. 

Then Lucifer's fist tightened in her hair and he jerked her upright to face him. 

"Next time you try to refuse me what  _ I _ want, I'll do more than just take it by force."

And he pushed Crowley down onto the bed and jerked her skirt down her legs. 


	14. Chapter 14

Crowley didn't find her time at the Dowling's to get easier as years passed. 

She still had the eyes of the male staff on her, which was most of the staff, and she still had to raise the son she had never wanted. 

The Dowling's mostly ignored Warlock. Crowley almost resented them for it, neglecting the son they'd gotten a  _ choice  _ in having. Forcing Crowley to play nanny and mother to the Antichrist, which really could have been her worst nightmare if it tried. 

Thaddeus was never there, Harriet prefered parties and teas and anything, really, to paying attention to her son. 

Warlock was five years old, and the closest he had to parents were Nanny Ashtoreth and Brother Francis. 

Francis was busy with Warlock in the garden, Crowley had meant to be following but had gotten distracted by some loud crashing followed by a cry of alarm and a frantic "shhh!" from one of the rooms. 

She stopped outside the door, and seconds later, a frantic maid ran out and right into her. 

"Is everything alright, Elizabeth?" Crowley asked in her fake Scottish brogue. 

"Everything's fine, Nanny Ashtoreth," Thaddeus Dowling said firmly as he stepped out of the room. "Just a little misunderstanding. Elizabeth, my office." 

The poor girl looked about ready to cry, and Crowley decided it was time to step in. 

There was a limit to what she could tolerate. "Mister Dowling, I'm afraid I have urgent need of Miss Elizabeth, that's why I was waiting here. Warlock's made quite a mess in the other room and I was hoping to get some help cleaning it up before it stains. I'll send her to you when we're finished."

She didn't give Thaddeus Dowling a change to respond before she pulled Elizabeth away from the offending man and down the hallway. 

"He made an advance on you, didn't he?" She murmured, and Elizabeth nodded. 

"Unwanted?" 

Another nod. 

"And he pressed the issue?" 

Yet another nod. Crowley's cold blood boiled. "There's no actual mess, dear. Go back to your quarters, compose yourself and I'll deal with him. He won't try that again," she promised. 

"Thank you, Nanny Ashtoreth," Elizabeth said softly. 

"Lilith, dear," Crowley replied, "you can call me Lilith."

"Lilith. Are you sure you'll be okay? He's our boss!" 

"He won't trifle with you again, dear. I'm not frightened of him, but I think he's about to learn he should be frightened of  _ me."  _

Elizabeth nodded and walked towards her quarters, a hint of a smile trying to peak through her upset face. 

Crowley let her get down the hall and turn, glanced around to make sure no one was looking and allowed her grip on her human form to slip away. 

She slid slowly to the floor, coiling into long loops and stretching herself out as she hit the ground.

Her tongue flickered out, tasting the air to follow where the American Diplomat had gone off to. She slid down the shadows in the hall, unseen because she commanded no one to see her. Humans were remarkably easy to fool, how they didn't notice a huge black serpent even with a miracle never failed to amuse Crowley when she wasn't on her way to scare the piss out of the American Diplomat. 

She made her way down the hall and into Thaddeus' home office, krept into a corner and waited for him to get back to work. 

It didn't take him long, the bastard barely put anything thought into what he had done to Elizabeth before settling down for his meeting, having the audacity to  _ laugh  _ about his failed escapade. 

"I'll fire her when she's done with the Nanny, and I really ought to fire the Nanny, too, for pissing me about, but Harriet likes her."

Crowley slid out from the corner and slowly made her way to under Thaddeus' feet. The diplomat didn't seem to notice her. 

"You've still got the sexy domineering Nanny, haven't you? The redhead with the umbrella? Don't fire her until you manage to tap that, Thad. Get the Nanny treatment for yourself instead of Warlock. Betcha she'd give you a nice scolding if you asked her to."

"Oh trust me, she's not going anywhere until I find out."

That was enough. Crowley coiled herself around Thaddeus' leg and climbed  _ up  _ before he could process what was happening. The tip of her tail ended his call blasted video call before the caller could realize what was happening, she reared up above him until she was looking down at him, with him wrapped in her coils and unable to move. 

"Don't make a sssound," she hissed, and Thaddeus didn't have a choice in the matter. 

She lowered herself so she was directly in front of his face. "You'll keep your filthy fingersss off your ssstaff, or you'll losssse them," she warned, tongue flickering in his face. 

Something warm and wet soaked against the diplomat's trousers. Digusted, Crowley realized the diplomat had pissed himself. She fought the urge to recoil. 

After giving birth, though, she'd been covered in worse than piss before.

"And your not going to fire the maid, you'll give her a raissse for putting up with your harassssment. Otherwisssse…"

She lunged, quick as a flash, had her jaw around Thaddeus' throat before he could move. "Otherwisssse I'll do more than threaten you. Underssstood?"

Thaddeus Dowling nodded desperately. Crowley slackened her coils and dropped off of him, slipped out of the room before he could really process what had just happened. 

Once in the hall, she miracled herself clean and re-assumed her human form, dusting off her blazer as she got to her feet. It took her a little work to get her tongue and teeth back to normal, but she managed it. 

Thaddeus Dowling wouldn't  _ really  _ remember being threatened by a large black and red serpent with gold eyes, but he  _ would  _ remember the feeling of her jaws around his throat and scales coiled tightly around him the next time he tried to harm a staff member.

That was good enough for Crowley. She needed to go and find Warlock. He was her charge, after all, she couldn't spend all her time threatening the diplomat. 

Aziraphale had the young boy out in the garden, so Crowley made her way outside and over to where Brother Francis pretended to work and Crowley walked over late at night and made sure the flowers were really up to snuff. 

Sure enough, Aziraphale was pointed to something sitting on the edge of a flowerpot. "That's brother pigeon!" He declared, then pointed at something on the ground, "and brother snail, and look! Sister slug!" 

He turned to Warlock, suddenly more intense than before. "You remember young Warlock, when you're older, that you must have love and reverence in your heart for all livin' things."

Warlock contemplated that for a moment. "Nanny says living things are only fit to be ground under my foot, Brother Francis," he said, and Crowley smirked. 

She had indeed told him that, while teaching him what happened if you poured salt on slugs. 

It had been a beneficial excursion for Warlock and Brother Francis, who knew nothing about gardens and the fact that slugs were a pest that liked to destroy well-liked plants.

"Well, don't you listen to 'er. Listen to me."

Crowley sighed and shook her head. "Brother Francis! It's time for Warlock to have a snack and then a nap," she called, and Aziraphale readily shooed him over to her. 

They had to get along and influence the same amount. They couldn't deny each other the chance to influence Warlock without massive repercussions for the world. Now that Brother Francis had finished his lesson, it was Nanny Ashtoreth's turn. 

Crowley ushered Warlock inside, fed him some carrot sticks and then brought him to his room.

She wound up the creepy music box she had found him around the four month mark. 

"Will you sing me a lullaby, Nanny?" Warlock asked, and Crowley couldn't help but bristle, as she always did at the request.. 

She really hadn't realized how bad it could be to have to raise the son she hadn't wanted, to pretend to love and care for him when he was the worst thing ever wrought from her. 

She forced a smile and smoothed his hair. "Of course, dear," she agreed, crooning along to the song she had written to match the lullaby. 

_ "Go to sleep and dream of pain, doom and darkness, blood and brains. Sleep so sweet, my darling boy, you will rule when Earth's destroyed." _

"The gardener says I must love all living things, even sister slug. And I should never destroy the world." 

Crowley gave the boy a soft smile. "Well, don't you listen to him. Listen to me." 

Aziraphale and Crowley had tea in Crowley's mini-flat that evening, tea which quickly devolved to wine. Crowley shed her kitten heels and wool stockings and found that she almost felt safe for the first time in years, with Aziraphale in the room. 

Lucifer wouldn't make an appearance when Aziraphale was there. He couldn't. Not with an angel present, and he never showed up when other people were around. For that, Crowley was grateful for Aziraphale's presence. 

"'m tellin' you, y'gotta stop tellin' Warlock that slugs 're good creatures, 'ziraphale. They're terrible for y'r garden."

"Crowley, I 'ave to teach Warlock re- rever- rver- love for all livin' things. Good f'gardens or not." 

"Y're a terrible gardener," Crowley scolded, narrowing her serpentine eyes. She swallowed another big sip of her wine, swirled it around in her glass. 

"You wanted t'be the nanny," Aziraphale reminded him, raising an eyebrow over the rim of his glass. "You could've been the gardener, y'wanted t'be the nanny."

Crowley hadn't wanted to be the nanny, Lucifer had  _ told  _ her to be the nanny. She hadn't gotten a choice. 

With a shaky hand, Crowley poured more wine into her glass, took another big swallow. Her lipstick left a purple stain around the rim of her glass, she grabbed a napkin and wiped off her lipstick. 

She threw the napkin to the side. "Couldn't. Hell needs me t'seem involved. Couldn't be the gardener." 

Aziraphale gave her a funny look. "Why not? If Hell believes you're the only influence, surely as long as they know you're here influencing at all that would be good enough!" 

"Must have been a dumb movie plot. Demonic nanny for the Antichrist, training him to kill people. Course, demon probably gets destroyed and I'd be in trouble if that happened." 

Aziraphale chuckled. "Your lot seem t' get you in trouble for ever'thin'! Y'couldn't even heal yer broken ankle th'other day!" 

"Angel, that was five  _ years  _ ago, not th'other day."

Aziraphale made a face. "'guess your lot really don't send rude notes," he remarked. 

"No," Crowley agreed, "they don't."

It only took a few more glasses of wine for Crowley to begin dozing off, and Aziraphale bade her goodbye. 

She put her wine glass to the side, snapped her fingers to cork the bottle and turn out the lights, and settled down into the pillows. 

_ "Have some water, love, catch your breath," a soft voice told Crowley, holding a glass to his lips.  _

_ Crowley blinked a couple of times, felt sweat beading on his forehead and silken sheets around him.  _

_ Aziraphale was lying beside him, holding the glass to his lips.  _

_ "You look tired, dear, have some water," Aziraphale encouraged, pressing a kiss to his temple. "I have some chocolate, too, to make you feel a little less exhausted, if you want it. It's even that horrible stuff you like that's not even real chocolate anymore." _

_ Crowley let his parched lips part and took a small sip of water, swallowed it down gratefully.  _

_ "There we go," Aziraphale said patiently, "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were this tired when I pushed you a little. You did wonderfully. Just splendid. I'm proud of you."  _

_ Despite himself, Crowley's heart swelled with the praise. He leaned his head a little to the side, rested it against Aziraphale's chest and stared up into his green eyes.  _

_ He felt a flash of unnecessary fear when he first did, but they were as bright and green as ever as Aziraphale smiled down at him, wrapped his arms around his shoulders and kissed him. "Nothing to say? You really are tired, love."  _

_ Crowley gave him a flash of a smile, but still didn't say anything. He was content to lie in Aziraphale's arms in relative silence, still being coaxed to have a few more sips of water until slowly, he drifted out of awareness.  _

Crowley was certain he would find something sticky on the sheets when he awoke, a bruise or two he didn't recognize, his skirt discarded on the floor. Maybe a bite mark on his collar bone, maybe a bloody lip. 

Something to tell him the dream wasn't a dream. Aziraphale obviously hadn't spent the night in Crowley's flat, and the other option was that Lucifer had been by. 

But why did Crowley remember being cared for, if that was the case? Lucifer wasn't interested in  _ taking care  _ of him. He wasn't interested in making sure Crowley drank something, or fretting over him being too tired. 

Crowley stripped the sheets off the bed, as calmly as possible. He didn't see any signs of anything happening last night on the sheets, there were no new bruises or injuries, his skirt was rumpled from sleeping in it, but still on. 

No one had been to visit, which almost made things worse. 

Before this assignment a fantasy or two was nothing. He would feel guilty for imagining an angel with him, particularly Aziraphale, but there was nothing to be angry about. 

Now, used and abused and extorted by that fantasy and his subconscious still clung to it. 

It made Crowley feel sick to his stomach. Didn't he ever learn? It apparently didn't matter that Lucifer paid him a visit at least once a week to turn that desire against him, to use a form that Crowley wouldn't say no to, and Crowley still didn't learn. Still fantasized at night about what it would be like if the angel  _ really  _ touched him even as he learned to associate Aziraphale's touch with pain and suffering. 

"Stupid demon," Crowley hissed to himself, tugging off his wrinkled blouse and frumpled skirt and digging through his closet to find something to wear for the day. "How many times do you have to get hurt, Crowley? How many times do you have to wake up to reality before you stop being stupid?" 

Crowley tugged on the new skirt and shirt, snapped her fingers to do her hair and makeup, she didn't have the energy to do it herself. 

Walked passed the wine bottle that had been left out on the table, studied it for a moment before pulling down a bottle of scotch and taking a couple long swigs.

Something needed to take the edge of the day, and thanks to miracles, the Dowlings would never know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to apologize to fans of The Omen, it was a decent movie, I've never read the book but I just wanted to poke fun at it.


	15. Chapter 15

Crowley had resorted to make-up when she couldn't focus enough to miracle away the bruise around her eye and the vibrant red bite mark left from the night previous.

As had been pointed out to her, it was her own fault, really. After ten years you would think she would know better than to struggle. He didn't like struggling. He was already being generous, with the illusion, making it easy to agree and lie still. In getting what he wanted, Lucifer always gave Crowley something she wanted, too. 

There had never been a time when he hadn't. Crowley refused to recall a time Lucifer hadn't offered her the illusion. 

He always made it easy, and Crowley shouldn't have fought him over it. He wouldn't have hurt her if she hadn't fought. 

He'd hit her to make her lie still, bit her because she had annoyed him. His sharp teeth had dug into her neck as the predator in her thrashed and fought and panicked and she had lain as still as possible, letting his teeth dig deeper as he thrust into her. 

Like she was supposed to. It wasn't even a matter of supposed, between the illusion and the fact that Lucifer was rarely a purely selfish lover, there was almost always something in it for her if she didn't frustrate him, she shouldn't have had to force herself. 

She should have genuinely laid back and enjoyed herself. It's what any other demon would do. Any other demon would volunteer to be brought off by Lucifer's rough fingers as he thrust deeper, harder and faster into her, using the way she tensed and cried out to catch his own release and spill inside her. 

It could have been enjoyable. Should have been enjoyable. 

So it was her own fault he'd hurt her. He had stressed it. She had asked for it. Invited it. Practically forced his hand. She was the one who insisted on struggling with him. There was no need for that behaviour, she was supposed to know that by now. 

The bruise should have been the hardest to hide, but her black sunglasses did most of the work for her, in that they hid most of the bruise, and a bit of a contrasting colour and concealer kept it out of sight. 

The bite was a whole other story. It was angry and red, sharp teeth marks still clear in her skin. It was on the top of her neck, off to the side, too far up to be hidden by her blouse. It took about ten minutes for her to manage to hide it, and then she finished getting dressed. 

She walked over to Warlock's room, gently shook him awake. "School, little hellspawn," she said softly, and he blinked his eyes open. 

"Do I have to go? I have a temperature," Warlock complained. 

Crowley pressed the back of her hand to his forehead.

He didn't have a temperature, but she let it slide. It was a far cry from proper evil acts, but she figured she might as well count it. He was lying, after all. 

"Alright, dear boy. I'll tell your mother, you go back to sleep," she said in her most soothing voice. "I'll come check on you in an hour or so." 

Crowley reported back to Harriet Dowling, let her know that Warlock would be spending the day at home. She showed very little interest and allowed Crowley control of the whole situation. 

Crowley walked out to the garden, stood poker straight next to the roses. They were drooping, a little wilted. She pinched one between her fingers and hissed at it. "Stand up. You're being looked after by an angel, for Satan's sake."

"Are ye threatenin' m'roses again, Nanny Ashtoreth?" Aziraphale asked, walking up with a blade of grass in his teeth. 

"They're looking pathetic, gardener. You should be a little more stern with them," Crowley advised, "Warlock is staying home from school today. He had a temperature." 

"Does he, then?" Aziraphale asked. 

Crowley shrugged. Aziraphale sighed. 

"You can bring him some of your homemade chicken noodle soup later, make him regret his decision," Crowley suggested. 

Aziraphale was about to protest when a young cook walked passed them. 

He grabbed Crowley's behind as he walked passed. Crowley whirled around, snapped her fingers and the boy instantly tripped over an uneven patch of grass, fell face-first into the ground. 

He stood up after a minute of howling on the ground, blood pouring down his face from his nose. Crowley smirked. "Serves him right."

"Crowley! You can't tempt the humans and then punish them for responding!" Aziraphale scolded. 

"I'm not tempting anyone, Aziraphale," Crowley said angrily as she watched the cook run back for the manor. "I'm doing my job as a nanny." 

"Just look at you, Crowley! You might have watched Mary Poppins to learn how to be a Nanny, but your mannerisms were clearly picked up in some sort of pay-per-view pornographic film!" Aziraphale scolded, a tone in his voice that Crowley didn't like. 

"What are you saying, Brother Francis?" She asked, narrowing her eyes behind her dark sunglasses. "I don't believe we were asked to consult on each other's costumes because Satan knows you wouldn't have those ridiculous teeth if we had." 

She leaned back against the trunk of a tree, all thin lines and long legs and skirt and jacket that flared at her hips. 

"You're positively indecent!" 

Crowley glanced down at her clothes, her typical long, thin skirt with enough of a split up the back that she could still move, wool stockings, blazer and blouse. "I have no idea where you get that impression. I'm dressed rather appropriately." 

"Oh, don't play dumb with me, Crowley, you're flaunting yourself like the Whore of Babylon! Are you trying to cause the Dowlings' div-"

Crowley's lace-gloved hand struck Aziraphale's cheek before she could even think. It left a rapidly forming red welt. Her hand stung from the blow, and it only made her want to hit him again.

"What was that for?" 

Crowley leaned in as close as she could stand. She could feel herself shaking, had to fight down her real feelings and make herself get angry. The Crowley that Aziraphale knew, the one who was Warlock's nanny and not his mother wouldn't get upset, she would get angry. "If you ever make another comment like that about me, Brother Francis," she hissed, holding him by his collar, sharp teeth flaring out on instinct, "Armageddon be damned, I will have you removed from staff. I will hire a good influence myself if I have to, you'll never set foot on this estate or anywhere near me again. Have I made myself incredibly clear?" She snarled. 

Aziraphale looked taken aback. Removed Crowley's hand from his collar, straightened his tunic. "Dear girl, what has gotten into you-"

"You bloody angels and your bloody perfection can shut it, Brother Francis!" Anne snapped, "thinking you're better than everyone else! You have no idea what it's like for women in this world, you haven't tried on a set of tits since the eighteenth century!"

"And you chose to be this woman! It's not compulsory for you to play a Nanny and a harlot, you do know that, don't you?" 

Crowley didn't think. She shoved Brother Francis away from herself, grief and pain and anger roiling deep in her stomach. 

Aziraphale tripped over a tree root, landed hard on the ground. "Crowley!"

"You stay out of my way, Aziraphale," Crowley snapped, tears on the verge of breaking into her voice. "You stay the fuck out of my way. You have no idea what other people's intentions are and you have no bloody idea what other people have gone through. You keep your judgements to yourself, I don't want to fucking hear them! Try it again and I'll report you to Harriet. Since you're too busy making crude assumptions about what my hemline means, I'll remind you that she trusts me a Hell of a lot more than she trusts you. Your word against mine isn't going to work out for you." 

She spun on her heel and stormed off. 

She knew she didn't make it far enough away from Aziraphale before the dam cracked and the tears started falling. 

It was one thing to know what Hell thought of her. Lucifer hadn't cared about her agreeing, hadn't cared what her intentions were, if she was trying to tempt or just trying to exist. He had used the only real, deeply hidden intentions she had against her. Used it to try and ruin the only friendship Crowley had, used it to make everything that happened with Warlock her own fault.

The rest of Hell didn't even bother with that. She had gotten more threats and comments about her form and what demons would do to it if she didn't belong to the boss in the last ten years than she had in the six thousand previous. 

But Aziraphale. The one person who still mattered. The one person who Crowley had hoped didn't see her that way. 

The Whore of Babylon. 

No one had even said anything about Jezebel bearing the bloody Antichrist. 

Didn't that make her worse off?

"Crowley? Crowley, why are you crying?" Aziraphale rushed over to her. 

"Piss off, angel!" Crowley snarled, taking a step away from him. "Piss off, you've done enough bloody harm for the day, don't you think? Piss off, go kill your stupid roses and let me look after Warlock like I'm supposed to!" 

"Why are you so upset?" Aziraphale insisted, "this isn't like you!" 

"Oh, that's bloody rich!" Crowley forced a bitter laugh. "You call me a whore so let's remark on my reaction? Tell me I'm overreacting and being strange? Because I should obviously just laugh off being called the Whore of Babylon by someone I respected!" 

"Crowley, I was merely remarking-" 

"On how you obviously think that my wearing a skirt is equivalent with committing adultery and being fated to be torn apart by dogs! You're as bad as the rest of them, Aziraphale."

"The rest of who?" Aziraphale asked.

"Open your eyes, angel. Go see who your new crowd is, telling women they're provoking men for existing! I'm sure you'll get on fabulously with your old-fashioned views and derogatory statements! Today you call me a harlot for daring to have breasts, tomorrow you can blame a rape victim because her shirt was low-cut!" 

Crowley didn't give him a chance to answer. She stormed away yet again. "And don't follow me!"

She stomped back into the house, heels sinking ever-so-slightly into the muddy ground as she made her way to the door, took a moment in the doorway to compose herself and then stepped in with most of her usual poise. 

She walked down the hall and over to Warlock's room, pressed her hand to his forehead and found that now he did have a temperature. The little hellspawn hadn't been lying after all. "Are you feeling any better, dear? Can I get you something to eat if you're up to it," she offered, sitting down on the edge of his bed. 

Warlock stared up at her. "Are you crying, Nanny?" He asked, frowning. 

Crowley realized then that she hadn't dried her eyes. She reached up under her sunglasses and wiped away the remainders of her tears, but that only confirmed things for Warlock. "What made you cry, Nanny?" 

"Nothing dear, just something in my eyes," Crowley replied quickly. 

Warlock did not seem convinced. "Did my dad make you cry? He makes a lot of the workers here cry." 

Crowley shook her head. "No dear, it wasn't your father." 

"Was it Brother Francis?" 

"How did you know that?" Crowley asked, surprised. 

"I was watching out the window, I wanted a snack. Saw you in the garden with Brother Francis and it looked like you fought," Warlock replied, "what did he say?" 

"Nothing you need to worry about, dear. Just… opened a few old wounds, as they say," Crowley said, "nothing I'm not used to hearing." 

Without a single bit of warning, Warlock sat up and pulled Crowley into a hug. 

Crowley froze. She didn't know what to do, she didn't know how to react, she wanted to scramble backwards and push the child, her child away from her but Warlock wouldn't understand that and it wasn't fair of her to do, she couldn't do that to him. Not when he was so plainly trying to comfort her and it wasn't his fault that the proximity, the familiarity of his actions made her so uncomfortable. 

It wasn't his fault that she flashed back to something that had happened a million years ago and yesterday when he hugged her, felt herself crying in her car with Warlock in her arms and blood running down her legs. 

It wasn't his fault. He wasn't doing it on purpose and Crowley forced herself to wrap her arms around him and return his hug, even though she wanted desperately to flee down the hall. She didn't want to acknowledge how familiar this felt, though she had never felt the supposed maternal bond with Warlock she did know that this somehow felt wrong and right at the same time and she hated it, it made her skin crawl. 

Warlock didn't let her go for a long time, far too long for Crowley's psyche and composure. When the boy finally pulled away, she needed to excuse herself, fast, or she would melt back down in front of him. 

"What sort of a snack did you want, little hellspawn?" Crowley asked, ignoring the way her voice cracked in the middle of her statement. 

"Just some crackers, nanny," Warlock replied, and then gave a long pause. "Brother Francis shouldn't have made you cry.". 

"No," Crowley agreed vaguely, "he shouldn't have." 

Not the one person she trusted in the world.

It occurred to Crowley as she walked down the hall to get some crackers and ginger soda that Warlock was the Antichrist and that may have been a threat against Aziraphale, but she couldn't bring herself to care. 

It would serve him right.


	16. Chapter 16

"Our son looks like his mother." 

Crowley stiffened. "No, he doesn't. I should know, I'm raising him," she corrected, without looking beside her at the figure who just a few seconds ago had been her best friend in the world. 

She was almost through raising the boy. Tonight was her last night listening out for the Antichrist, then she could leave. 

She and Aziraphale had put in their resignations about two weeks apart so that it didn't appear suspicious. Crowley was leaving first, then Aziraphale two weeks later.

The Antichrist would turn eleven in three. 

"He could look like you. He's yours, too," Lucifer purred. 

A clawed hand raked through Crowley's hair. She didn't shudder, and he must have been pleased with her reaction because he didn't pull on it. 

He liked to make her prove she could behave for him, and she could. She laid still on the bed, one arm crossed over her chest, while Lucifer played in her flame-red curls. 

"I doubt you would want that," Crowley replied, biting at her lip. "Doubt you want him to be anything like me."

Warlock was not supposed to be like a demon. He wasn't supposed to be the spitting image of his father, and it was what Crowley was terrified Lucifer would soon realize that he wasn't. 

"Why would I have you in charge of influencing him if that were the case?" Lucifer made a good point, Crowley explained it away quickly. 

"I'm the Earth agent. Makes sense to make me do it all. You want him to be just like you, I was just-"

"Don't presume you know my reasons for picking you," the devil hissed, "I've had my eyes on you since the very beginning. Such a… pretty little thing, for a demon. And the way you behave yourself you practically beg for someone to pin you to a wall and take advantage." 

Crowley froze as a hand drifted into her long red hair, pulled a little. "He's supposed to act like me, but if he's lucky he'll get the looks from his mum. Just look at you, begging to be taken again and again. It's a shame there can't be two Antichrists. I don't think I'd mind if my child looked like his mother. Could have seen if Warlock's brother would get your features. Physical tempting would have come naturally to him if he had. He could have begged for it just by walking by like you do." 

"I'm not begging anyone for anything." 

Lucifer raised an eyebrow. "Look at you, Crowley. Even before I arrived, with your long curls and pretending to be a straight-laced nanny, pretending you don't know everyone in this building would either like to strike you or be struck with your stupid umbrella. In Hell, you make every demon down there want to pin you to a wall and have you spread your legs for them. You'd never leave if they did, though, everyone would have to have a go. They'd have you down there until no one remembered how many have been inside that pretty cunt of yours and they'd have to fight it out to be the father of any whelps you produced."

The hand tightened even further in her hair. 

"You do it on purpose." The voice hissed in her ear. "You like what your form does to others, you have since long before you fell."

Before Crowley could protest anymore, Lucifer rolled back on top of her, illusion swiftly covering his grotesque features as he crashed his mouth back into Crowley's. 

He revelled in the way she squeaked and squirmed just ever so slightly, not fighting but not quite lying perfectly still and taking it as he used her once more. He fucked her again and again and paid her no mind until she couldn't lie still any longer, was too wound up with nowhere to go. 

And then it was hard to say what he would do. Some days he would hold her by the throat and make her beg for his mercy, beg for release that she wasn't even sure she wanted. 

Other times he would just leave. Leave her as wound up as he could, as though he enjoyed the way she had to wrestle with the option of going to sleep aroused and desperate or giving in and using her own hand, the devil's seed serving as lubrication. 

All three were humiliating. 

This time he made her beg. She didn't want to, let him hold her throat and fuck himself with her again and again without saying a word, even as he held tighter and tighter and growled at her to use her words, that he would leave if she only gave in. 

She refused. She wouldn't give in, not tonight. 

She was quite sure she was bleeding and raw by the time he quit and moved away from her. 

"You ought to be more obedient, Crowley."

The demon didn't say anything. Lucifer still had a hand pressed tight enough to bruise into her throat. "With the war so close, I own you even more. Do you think I don't know who's name you cry out when I fuck you?" He asked, snarled teeth dangerously close to her face. "Did you think I wouldn't notice that you'd rather be the principality's filthy whore than taken by your own Lord and Master? I know who Aziraphale is, I always have, and I know you imagine that you're being crushed under that unbecomingly portly body and fucked by his fat and doubtlessly clumsy cock when I lay with you."

Crowley stared at Lucifer in terror. 

He knew. He had probably known all along. 

"I can make it happen," Lucifer said, very, very softly. His breath stank. "Serve me well, and you can have him after the war. All yours, a little pet of your own. I won't need you all the time, after all. You can have the angel however you've pictured it when I'm not keeping you busy myself. But if you fail to serve me, I'll destroy him before your very eyes." 

Crowley was silent. 

"I'll even make you a deal. Make him Fall, before or after the apocalypse, and I'll never touch you again."

"What's the catch," Crowley asked, voice hoarse and rough. 

"No catch. I don't need to make a catch. I don't think you can do it. I think you'll be mine forever, whether I give you the principality or not."

"Please," Crowley whispered, although she wasn't sure what for. 

Lucifer took it as her finally giving in and begging. He smiled a sharp-toothed smile. 

"There's the smart choice."

The illusion was barely back up when his fingers brought Crowley slamming into an orgasm she hadn't wanted in the first place. 

She howled, and Lucifer finally left her bed, satisfied. 

Crowley was in no such rush to leave. 

She rolled onto her side, curled in a ball, and sobbed. 

There was nothing she could do. Nothing. There were no good options. 

The next morning, Crowley's hands shook as he took a pair of scissors to his long red curls. 

Everything Lucifer had said last night stuck with him like knives under his skin, but most of all the way he'd been accused of asking for this attention, the way the devil's fingers had played in his brilliant red locks. 

He pulled them tight and straight and cut them as close to his scalp as he dared, watched long clumps of it fall to the floor around his feet. He hadn't cut his hair short in decades, but now he took it almost shorter than ever before, hacking it out with scissors he had found in a drawer in Thaddeus' office. 

It was uneven and messy when he was done, stood up and didn't get the chance to curl around. 

Crowley had always loved his hair, narcissistic as it was. Even before the Fall he had loved the red curls he had. They had been long then, much longer than he'd worn them since. 

The ends had singed in the fire as he Fell. He had barely gotten rid of his burned feathers and the burned edges of his hair when Lucifer told him he was going topside. 

He hadn't been able to reconcile his appearance in the pond in Eden with how he new himself. 

His face looked gaunt now, black scars where he used to have a map of the stars painted on his skin. His hair is shorter, even though it's still passed his shoulders, his wings are pitch black and charred. 

His eyes are yellow and reptilian. 

The rejection of this appearance has a physical reaction. Crowley closed his eyes and the ground rushed up to meet him, and then all of the sudden he couldn't close his eyes. 

When he had peered at himself then, there had been a large black snout, a flickering tongue and red and black scales. 

Despite his initial shock, Crowley had liked his snake form. He even named himself after it, although the name didn't stick. 

Crawley. 

Still, he had re-assumed a human form when he'd met Aziraphale. The wind had blown his red hair around him, and he'd decided he could live with this. 

And he did. He'd let children braid it in Mesopotamia, had worn a veil over it in Golgotha but he had left his hair the length it had burned to. 

Like something fate had designed. 

It wasn't until Rome that he cut it. Cut it and styled it in tight slick curls with a silver wreath on his head. 

It was Rome that made him decide he liked fluidity and change. 

In King Arthur's England, Crowley's hair had been long again, tied behind his head. It was shorter in Elizabethan times while he experimented with facial hair, but still long and this time bushed outwards. 

All the while, Aziraphale stayed constant. Crowley played with his appearance like a child with a doll, in coils in France, short with long sideburns in Victorian England, the very typical sixties cut he had sported in the sixties. 

This was the first time he cut his hair with no thought behind it. He cut it to be rid of it, choppy and uneven because he couldn't live with it long anymore. 

No love note care went into the action, if he could have ripped it out he would have. Sharp scissors snipped easily through the red curls, he dropped them carelessly onto the bathroom door until it was all shortened.

Crowley left the copper locks on the floor, miracled his suitcase packed and fled. 

He should have said goodbye to Warlock. He should have reported back to Harriet one last time. He should have let Aziraphale know he was leaving. 

But he didn't do any of those things. He walked himself out of the Dowling's official residence, suitcase in hand, newly shortened copper hair bouncing around his eyes. 

It felt good to shed his pencil skirt and blouse, allow his feminine appearance to disappear, curves melting away as he walked to his car. 

His regular black leather jeans felt more comfortable than he had thought they would. Though everything about his appearance was vaguely unfamiliar, it was comfortable. 

He knew better than to feel safe like this. Lucifer hadn't cared how he changed himself, he would use and abuse him just the same, but Crowley felt a little better like this. 

He drove himself to a hair salon. He knew he had made a choppy, horrible mess of his hair and he knew it needed to be fixed. 

He parked his car outside the building and walked in. 

There were not available appointments until Crowley walked in, but he didn't have a problem getting himself seated in a leather chair and having an apron tucked onto his shoulders. 

"It looks like someone took a chainsaw to this," the barber remarked, running a hair through the uneven lengths Crowley had left behind. "What did you want me to do with it?" 

Crowley smiled. "Surprise me." 

He shut his eyes and let the barber take the scissors to his desecrated red locks that he used to love so much. 

Crowley just kept running his fingers through his new hair when he was done at the barber shop. 

It was no longer messy and choppy, instead it was nicely styled, standing upright with the help of just a little gel. 

He liked it. He had cut it off because he couldn't stand the memory of Lucifer tugging on it and making all his accusations and he hadn't expected to like his new haircut, but he liked it. 

It was lighter, more fun and careless. It was styled to look messy, and he liked running a hand through how short it was now. 

A change had done him good. He'd kept his long hair since his days of teasing and spraying in the eighties, and after forty years it was time to change things. 

He was happy with it. Happy with his hair for the first time in a while. 

He had genuinely thanked the barber profusely and tipped generously enough to make Aziraphale proud. 

It was good to be able to change. To feel like himself. Almost like his own. Almost like he could reclaim a bit of his identity with this new haircut. 

He sped home in the Bentley, shoulders lighter than before, threw the car in park outside his flat and made his way inside. 

Crowley hadn't returned to his flat in almost a year, the schedule just hadn't worked out for him to make a visit home, but there was no dust in the flat, he couldn't imagine why there would be. 

He walked into the room full of greenery, his own little Eden that he had remade in the flat, took a cursory look around. 

The plants trembled, but considering he had been gone for a year, they were in excellent condition.

None of them were shrivelled and dead. 

He walked slowly around the room, inspecting each individual leaf that was presented to him for spots or tears. 

He found one halfway through his observations, lifted it up. 

"That's a spot."

Spots weren't allowed, this plant had done it on purpose to anger him. There could be no spots. 

Crowley took the little fern into the back room, had turned on the garbage disposal when it occurred to him that Lucifer had told him he made his form tempting on purpose, too. 

He looked down at the little plant that trembled on the desk, sighed and reached for a pair of pruning scissors. 

"Don't you go spreading gossip about my sympathy, little fern, or you will go down the garbage disposal like you're supposed to," he warned, tugging gently on the leaf with the spot and snipping it off the plant. "Can't put you back with your friends, they'll think I've gone soft." 

It was likely softer to place the little fern on his bedside table, but Crowley didn't care. 


	17. Chapter 17

"Crowley! You cut your hair!" 

Aziraphale was not the first to remark. Someone else had, too, and it made the comfort Crowley had felt with this new look dissipate a little on his stomach. 

"It looks good!" 

Even Aziraphale's praise made Crowley's stomach twist in an odd way. 

"I hope we've done enough."

"Honey, look. This is what they used to think dinosaurs looked like. They're old and educational!" Harriet Dowling pulled her ear away from her phone for long enough to point to a rather funny looking supposed prehistoric creature.

"It's dumb," Warlock replied, barely looking up from what he was doing. 

"It's not dumb, it's a dinosaur."

"Dumbosaur, more like," Warlock scoffed. 

Crowley frowned. "What sort of normal ten year old doesn't like dinosaurs?" He asked. 

Aziraphale shifted a little in his seat. "But it's good that he's not interested in huge flesh-eating lizards, isn't it?" 

Crowley shrugged. "I suppose. I still don't get what the point of creating a world complete with ancient dinosaur skeletons." 

"It's another one of the Almighty's jokes, although not one that paleontologists can't appreciate," Aziraphale replied. 

"It hasn't got much of a punchline, either, if you ask me."

Aziraphale went silent and Crowley almost felt guilty. 

Questioning the Almighty in front of Aziraphale intentionally pushed the angel's buttons. He knew that. 

"When is his eleventh birthday again?" Aziraphale asked. 

"Wednesday," Crowley replied, "that's when it begins. Or, if we've done our job right, it doesn't begin. The Hellhound is key. They're sending it for three o'clock on Wednesday." 

"You've never actually mentioned a Hellhound before," Aziraphale said mildly. 

"What? Oh, yeah, they're sending him a Hellhound. Biggest one we've got, to pad by his side and protect him from harm."

Aziraphale frowned. "Won't people remark on the sudden appearance of a huge black dog? His parents, for example?" 

Crowley shook his head. "No one will even notice. It's reality, angel, and young Warlock can do what he likes with that, whether he knows it or not."

Aziraphale just watched him for a moment. 

Crowley watched Warlock. He was scribbling something on the description of a Victorian dinosaur monster. 

He wondered if he had done enough. Warlock was  _ his son  _ too, as Lucifer insisted on pointing out. 

It shouldn't have been  _ difficult  _ to have him see things Crowley's way. 

"He's supposed to name it. Stalks-by-Night, Throat-Ripper, something like that. But, if you and I have done our jobs correctly, then he'll send it away, unnamed." 

"And if he does name it?" 

"Then you and I have failed, Warlock will have his full powers and Armageddon will be days away."

Aziraphale frowned, pursing his lips into his typically 'thinking too hard' expression. 

"Surely there's some way to stop the process." 

Crowley bit his lip. 

There was a way. But could he  _ really  _ suggest it? Could he really condone what he was about to say, given his relationship to Warlock? "Well, if there was no boy, the process would stop…" he said carefully. 

"But there is a boy. He's standing over there, writing a rude word on the description of a dinosaur," Aziraphale said, thick as ever. 

"But there doesn't  _ have  _ to be a boy. If something were to happen to him…"

Aziraphale stared at him. 

"I'm saying you could kill him." Crowley said flatly, forcing it out before his throat closed up. 

Aziraphale stared at him, but Crowley didn't need the angel to guilt him for that statement. 

He had just suggested the murder of his own son. He didn't need Aziraphale's shock to tell him how horrible what he had just said was. Aziraphale didn't even know the half of it. 

"I've never actually killed… anything. I'm not sure I could." 

Crowley had gone this far. He had suggested that his best friend murder his own son, now that it was out there why shouldn't he continue? 

He had already said it. Spoken the words out loud, words no parent should ever say. 

He couldn't get any worse, so he may as well push. "Just one time. To save… everything. The whole world," he said softly. 

Aziraphale fidgeted uncomfortably. "You said the Hellhound will be arriving on his birthday?" He asked. 

Crowley nodded. 

"Well, we should be there! Maybe I can… chase the dog off!" Aziraphale's eyes lit up. "I could entertain!" 

Crowley groaned. "Oh, no, no, do not do your magic act, please, I am actually begging you," he started, even as Aziraphale blew on a penny which did  _ not  _ disappear, and instead dropped with a clang onto the pavement. 

He bent down and lifted it back up. "You have no idea how demeaning this is."

Aziraphale pretended to pull the coin out from behind Crowley's ear. 

"It was in your finger."

"No, it was in your ear!" 

"It was in your pocket, then-"

"It was  _ close  _ to your ear."

"Was never anywhere near my ear."

"You are no fun." 

"Fun? It's humiliating! You can do proper magic! You can make things disappear!" 

"But this is more fun."

"I'll make  _ you  _ disappear," Crowley said darkly, "if you show up in your magician's suit when I pick you up on Wednesday."

Crowley did not make Aziraphale disappear, despite the costume. In fact, at the angel's insistence, he whipped out a sharpie and drew a curled mustache onto his face. 

It was humiliating, God knew it, but Crowley was going in as a caterer and didn't have to acknowledge the fact that he knew the entertainer. 

And for that reason he could stand in the back, watching his watch zip closer and closer to three o'clock. 

With each passing second, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up a little more. 

If Warlock named the Hellhound when it arrived, then Crowley had failed. Then the end of the world would happen, and depending on his behaviour, he had two options. 

He'd be stuck in an endless cycle of what he was going through with Lucifer, or he could make Aziraphale Fall and free himself. 

There were no good options. 

Crowley realized with a start that there never had been. 

Not since the beginning. 

It seemed strange to quantify the last six thousand years as a series of bad decisions but he had never once been offered a good option. 

Stay in Heaven, or Fall with Lucifer. 

Everything he had done for the last six thousand years was a trap, and this was no exception. 

How could he choose Aziraphale's fate like that? When he couldn't even be trusted to choose his own? 

How could he be expected to know what Aziraphale would want? To know which was preferable, Falling or destruction? 

How could he be expected to justly choose Aziraphale’s fate when he had his own stakes? He had his own reasons to choose something Aziraphale may not prefer in the name of self-preservation. 

How could he help it? If he ever wanted to be free again, he had to do what deep down the cold truth gnawned at him that Aziraphale  _ wouldn't  _ prefer of the two options. 

Even if Aziraphale knew the full situation, he wouldn't pick what Crowley needed him to. 

Crowley wasn't worth Falling for. He knew that. 

He could hardly ask Aziraphale to give up everything he held dear so that the devil would leave him alone, but he selfishly wanted to. He wanted to tempt Aziraphale to sulphur and black feathers just to protect himself. 

He truly was a loathsome creature. The lowest of lows. 

How could he consider harming his closest friend in the world, his  _ only  _ friend in the world for his own gain? It was a crime, plain and simple, proof positive that he didn’t  _ deserve  _ Aziraphale as his friend. Not if he was so willing to take advantage of the angel for his own personal gain. 

His own selfish gain. For what, really? Escaping something he had agreed to and had been going through for the last eleven years?

Crowley looked up from his watch at the sound of something thwapping into someone. He looked at Aziraphale and instantly understood what had made that noise. 

Aziraphale had cream cake splattered on his face, and there was suddenly cake flying everywhere. Crowley used a bit of a miracle and his serpentine reflexes to make it so that none of the cake managed to land on his spotless white blazer or perfectly coiffed hair.

He glanced back down at his watch just in time to watch it flip to three o’clock. 

He looked between Aziraphale, his watch and Warlock. 

Nothing appeared. Crowley glanced around nervously, didn’t see a huge black dog charging towards Warlock. 

He didn’t see anything. Just children throwing cake around and yelling and screaming. 

He made his way to the angel. Together, they both fled the tent, as no black dog appeared and Warlock declared that this was the best eleventh birthday party ever, which Crowley supposed it had better be. 

It was one of the last eleventh birthday parties. 

“It was all a bit of a disaster, I’m afraid,” Aziraphale declared.

Crowley forced a calm demeanor. “Nonsense. You gave them all a party they’ll remember! Last one any of them will ever have, mind you,” he replied. 

Aziraphale frowned at him, pulling the dove he had stuck up his sleeve out. It lay limp in his hands. “It’s late.”

“Comes from sticking it up your sleeve,” Crowley replied, rolling his eyes. 

“No, not the bird. The Hellhound. It’s late,” Aziraphale clarified, although he handed the dove over to Crowley as he protested, as though it was still about the bird. 

“What the Heaven am I supposed to do with it?” Crowley asked. 

Aziraphale shot him a pleading look, and Crowley tapped its chest twice and threw it back into the air. 

It flapped its wings and soared away.

Crowley climbed into the Bentley, flicked on the radio. 

_ “And your time starts-” _

“Hello, Crowley.” 

Aziraphale winced as the disembodied voice crawled out of the speakers. “Ah, hi, who’s this?”

“You don’t recognize me, after all I’ve done for you? It’s Dagon. Lord of the Files. Master of Torments. The demon who didn’t tell Beelzebub when she sent you a diagram of human anatomy.”

Aziraphale seemed to be made curious by that remark, but Crowley cut Dagon off. “Right. Just checking in about the Hellhound?”

Dagon paused, suspicious. “He should be with you by now. Why, has something gone  _ wrong _ , Crowley? The Antichrist is  _ your _ responsibility-”

“Oh, no, no, nothing’s wrong! What could be wrong? Oh, I see him now! What a big, lovely helly Hellhound!” Crowley replied, voice going up a pitch as he lied through his teeth. “Okay, great talking to you, Dagon!” 

He flipped off the radio. 

“No dog,” Aziraphale said ominously, which Crowley’s nerves really didn’t need. 

“No dog.” 

“Wrong boy.” 

“Wrong boy,” Crowley repeated, and his mouth went dry as he realized the implications. 

Warlock was not his son. Warlock was not the Antichrist, he was not Crowley’s son and Crowley had fucked up the one task that could possibly save his skin. 

He was hopeless. There was nothing he could do to fix this. The world would end and Lucifer would find out that Crowley had  _ lost _ their son. Crowley had failed his assigned task and he had  _ lost _ his own son. 

He couldn’t find his  _ own bloody son. _ He had spent eleven years raising a stranger when he was supposed to be looking after the Antichrist he’d been forced to grow inside his own body. The one child in the whole word he should have been trusted to recognize. The one he shouldn’t have been able to mistake. 

He had  _ birthed _ the Antichrist, he had only been separated from the boy for one month how had he managed to lose the boy in just one month? In the single month he was given between when he’d forced it out of himself and when his employment with the Dowlings began, he had  _ lost _ the most important child in the entire damned world. 

It didn’t matter what he chose now. 

He had failed the second most important task he had ever been given. He had lost the Antichrist and he couldn’t recover from it. There was no recovery. 

He forgot that Aziraphale was there, that his angel would have questions, that he needed to answer for his reaction, no matter what it was. 

He slumped forwards in his seat, forehead pressed hard against the steering wheel, and he had hidden his face with both arms to try to keep Aziraphale from seeing him sob before he even knew it. 

He was doomed. Everything he loved was lost. Not only would the world end, but Crowley was doomed even once it had. 

There was nothing he could do about it. There was nothing  _ to _ be done. 

All possible hope was lost. 

“Crowley? Are you alright, dear boy?” Aziraphale asked, pressing a hand to Crowley’s shoulder. 

The demon snapped upright, all but threw Aziraphale’s hand off of him. “I’m fine!” He said hysterically, slamming the car into first gear before the angel could say anything else, and taking off as though he could outrun his certain doom.

The right boy, the Antichrist, Prince of Darkness, Destroyer of Worlds and the boy who truly was Crowley’s son, was playing in Hogback lane with his friends. It was his birthday and his mother, Diedre Young, had simply instructed him to be home by teatime for cake. 

He was not the high-status son of the American Diplomat, there were no caterers or magicians or secret service agents at his house. There was, in fact, simply a small home, a mother, a father, and a boy, Adam Young, who was bragging to his friends about the dog he was going to get for his birthday.

The children always played in Hogback woods, their own personal Eden. Adam Young was their leader.

“It’s my birthday. Of course I’m gonna get a dog,” Adam said, shrugging his shoulders. 

A young girl with curly black hair scoffed. “They never get what you want!” She declared, “for my birthday, I wanted a bike, and I  _ asked _ for it, and I said I wanted a razer blade saddle and twelve gears and everything, and you know what they got me? A  _ girl’s _ bike. With a basket.” 

“But you are actually a girl, Pepper!” A young boy with thick glasses reasoned. 

“That’s just sexist,” Pepper said irritably. 

“I want a dog,” Adam Young insisted.

“Oh right. And your mum and dad are just going to get you a big ol’ rottenwire then?” Pepper asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Behind them, where they couldn’t hear but they almost felt it in their spines, a tall black and white dog with snarled teeth and slobbering jaws growled. 

“I don’t want a big dog,” Adam replied, “I want the kind of dog you can have fun with. A little dog. I want a dog that’s brilliantly intelligent who can go down rabbit holes and learn tricks! And I’ll call him-”

The Hellhound, now fairly confused by its new instructions, waited for its name, still snarling.    
“I think I’ll call him Dog. Saves a lot of trouble, a name like that,” Adam decided. 

And with that, the huge black and white dog was no longer so huge. He was a short little terrier, and he sprinted for Adam Young. 

His new Master. 

He was named and claimed. Adam Young was coming into his power. 

The world was doomed, and there was nothing an angel or demon could possibly do about it, and certainly not the demon who was busy pretending he wasn’t sobbing in the driver’s seat of his car. 


	18. Chapter 18

A trip back to the Chattering Order of Saint Beryl had not paid off. In fact, all it had gotten Crowley was a cracked headlamp, and guilted by Aziraphale into driving a stranger home after she had crashed headfirst into his car, flying down the bike path with reckless abandon and not watching where she was going. 

They were no closer to finding the Antichrist, and Crowley's anxiety was rising the longer they went without a lead. 

He'd gone home and yelled at his plants, and it hadn't helped his nerves one bit.

He'd hacked away more dead and withering leaves from the little fern he kept in his room, leaving it with only the greenest it had and looking rather bare. 

Frowned at it. "Grow better! You've everything you need, no one's hurting you!" He snapped. 

And then he left. 

After a check-in from Hastur and Ligur, and a lot more anxiety, and one  _ very  _ misguided attempt at a nap, Crowley called Aziraphale. 

"Meet me at the third alternative rendez-vois point," he said quickly. 

"Is that the old bandstand or the back of the number nineteen bus?" Aziraphale asked. 

"The bandstand. Fifteen minutes." 

Crowley dropped the phone and climbed into the Bentley. 

Aziraphale beat him there. "Any news?" 

The angel blinked. "What sort of news would I have?" 

"Have you located the missing Antichrist's name, address and shoe size yet?" Crowley snapped, frustration getting the better of him. 

Hastur and Ligur were transporting Warlock to the plains of Megiddo. As soon as they realized he didn't have the dog they would know he wasn't thevAntichrist and they would come back for the real Antichrist's mother, the one who should have  _ known  _ Warlock wasn't the right boy. 

"Shoe size? Why would I have his shoe size?" Aziraphale asked, frowning. 

"It's a joke, angel!" Crowley cried, then sighed in defeat. "I haven't got anything either."

They were doomed. Earth was doomed. There was no way to continue. 

Everything was doomed. 

"It's the Great Plan, Crowley," Aziraphale said softly, and Crowley wanted to scream. 

It was the Great Plan that his suffering never end? It was the Great Plan that every time Crowley had a fingerhold on freedom it slipped away from him? The Great Plan that he couldn't escape certain doom no matter which side won? That he'd never feel safe again? 

"For the record," he growled, voice slowly getting louder as he continued, "great pustullent, bloody, mangled bollocks to the the Great  _ blasted  _ Plan!" 

Aziraphale fell silent for a moment, stared at Crowley in disapproval. "I know you'll be forgiven," he said, like a typical bloody angel with no clue what he was talking about. 

Crowley laughed. "Forgiven? I won't be forgiven! Not ever! I'm a demon, it's in the bloody job description! Unforgivable, that's what I am!" 

"You were an angel, once."

That was true. He had been an angel once, with wings white as fresh-fallen snow, red hair and golden eyes with no trace of reptilian features. 

He'd not been a particularly important angel, Aziraphale the Principality outranked him, but he had painted stars with his bare hands and he had loved it. 

And it had been ripped away from him. He hadn't been  _ good enough.  _ Loving what he did hadn't been good enough. Loving  _ God  _ hadn't been good enough. 

He'd asked questions. He'd wanted to know everything, he was only ever curious.

And in return for his curiousity he had been cast out into a pool of boiling sulphur. His wings had burned black, everything he was had been stolen from him because he dared as  _ why. _ Every gift he had ever been given had been taken back.

"That was a long time ago," he said darkly, "we need to find the boy. My agents can do it. Then we-"

"Then we what? Eliminate him?" Aziraphale asked.

Crowley swallowed, hard. 

He had suggested it before. Suggested killing Warlock. 

A boy who had turned out  _ not  _ to be the Antichrist. 

But the point was Crowley had already suggested that Aziraphale kill his son. 

It had to be Aziraphale, though. Crowley couldn't do it. How could he? 

The Antichrist was his own flesh and blood and bone. It was too despicable for a demon, too despicable for anyone, to murder their own child for their own selfish gain. 

Crowley had brought the Antichrist into this world with blood and sufferance. 

How could he try to remove him the same way? What sort of monster would he be if he slaughtered his own son in cold blood? 

"Well, someone does... I'm not personally up for killing kids," he said, uncomfortable and shaking a little. 

"You're the demon, I'm the nice one! I don't have to kill children!" Aziraphale said indignantly, ignoring the desperate look on Crowley's face. "You should kill him! Then the world gets a reprieve and Heaven won't have blood on its hands!" 

Crowley bristled at Aziraphale's statement. "No blood on your hands? That's a little bit holier-than-thou, don't you think?" He asked. 

He couldn't kill the Antichrist. It wasn't right. It wasn't natural. He was already a damned creature, he would be trice-damned if he murdered his own son. Twisted in mind and essence in a way even a demon couldn't comprehend, a true monster. 

"I am a great deal holier than thou, that's the whole point!" Aziraphale declared. 

"Then you should kill him. Holier-ly," Crowley snapped, glaring at the angel. 

"I'm not killing anyone!"

Crowley broke. He had no idea what to do if Aziraphale wouldn't agree to eliminate the child. There was nothing they could do in less than twenty-four hours to tame the Antichrist the way they had tried to tame Warlock. 

When they failed, Armageddon would begin and the war between Heaven and Hell would finally happen. 

He would either be destroyed or wish he had been. 

He couldn't accept any of those fates. "This is ridiculous, you're being ridiculous. I don't even know why I'm still talking to you!" 

Aziraphale frowned. "Frankly, Crowley, neither do I." 

"Enough!" Crowley cried, taking a few steps backwards. "Enough of this, I'm leaving!" 

"You can't leave, Crowley. There's nowhere to go!" Aziraphale told him. 

"Sure there is! It's a big universe out there, I helped build it! Even if this world becomes a puddle of incandescent jell-O we can- we could go off together!" 

There was everywhere to go. Crowley had made stars and nebulas and planets with his own bare hands, he knew there was  _ somewhere  _ he could bring Aziraphale that they would be safe. On the outer reaches of the created world, where they were never be found by anyone again, where they could stay until everything happening faded like an unpleasant dream. 

Until it was just  _ them.  _ They would just have each other, and that was all Crowley had ever needed. 

He could slowly start to forget what he had been through, he was sure of it, if Aziraphale was there with him.

Aziraphale scoffed. "Go off together. Listen to yourself, Crowley." 

"How long have we been friends?" Crowley asked desperately. "Six thousand years?" 

"Friends- we're not friends, Crowley! We are an angel and a demon, we have nothing whatsoever in common! I don't even like you!" Aziraphale snapped, staring at him in horror and Crowley could have sworn he spied disgust there, too. 

It broke his heart. 

"You-" 

Crowley's voice broke. 

He couldn't handle this. He couldn't handle this rejection he couldn't be expected to handle this rejection, from the one important being in his entire bloody life. "You do!" He cried, trying to convince himself and Aziraphale. "You adore me!" He tried to convince himself of the phrase. Of course Aziraphale liked him! He had to! 

Crowley couldn't  _ be alone.  _ If Aziraphale wasn't his friend then he was entirely alone. He couldn't handle that. 

He couldn't be alone. 

"Even if I did know where the Antichrist was, I wouldn't tell you! We're on opposite sides!" 

"We're on  _ our _ side!" Crowley said, seconds from despair, from pleading with the angel. 

"There is no  _ our side!"  _ Aziraphale shouted. "Not anymore. It's over, Crowley." 

Crowley opened his mouth to argue, but he couldn't make a sound come out. 

It didn't matter what he said. 

Aziraphale was done with him. 

"Fine." 

He took a deep breath. "Have a nice doomsday."

As he was walking back to the Bentley he came to the conclusion that if there was no  _ our side,  _ there was no sense in sparing Aziraphale when condemning him would reap rewards. 

Aziraphale wouldn't sacrifice for him. Why should Crowley give up his only remaining chance for Aziraphale's sake? For someone who claimed after six thousand years that they weren't even friends?

If he couldn't escape, he would make the angel Fall. He would earn his freedom. 

Lucifer was wrong. 

He could do it, and he would prove it. 

He would keep himself safe by any means necessary. 

"Great Plan? Show me a Great Plan!" Crowley cried, crouching down next to the chair in his office, staring up at the papers flying around the ceiling of his flat. "No. You won't. Too busy moving in mysterious ways and not talking to anyone!" He snarled, surging to his feet. 

"What did I do? What did the humans do? Why are you doing this? What did I ever do to you? I only ever asked questions, I was only ever curious! I just wanted to understand you and it made me question you! That's all it took to be a demon back then!" 

Now it took everything that he was. Everything that he had to give and some things he hadn't known he had in him to give up.

"Why are you doing this?" 

He fell silent. "You're testing them, you said you were going to be testing them," he said quietly, falling back to the ground. "But you shouldn't test us to destruction! Not to the end of the world!" 

No answer came for him. He knew better than to expect one. 

He leaned his head against the leg of the chair, closed his eyes, and wondered why he bothered to pray anymore in the first place.

God didn't listen to demons. 

_ "When I'm up in the stars, I won't even think about you!" _

He had business to take care of before Alpha Centauri, of course. He had pulled the Holy Water from his safe behind his sketch of the Mona Lisa and set a trap, and then he just had to wait. 

He realized something was wrong shortly after dispatching Ligur and handling Hastur. Something felt off, and while he couldn’t place it, he knew it was bad. 

And he knew it had to do with the angel. 

The angel who had rejected him not once but twice now, the angel Crowley had vowed wouldn’t matter in the grand scheme of things anymore. The angel Crowley had decided to sacrifice if he had to because it was becoming clearer that Aziraphale would sacrifice him.

It wasn’t fair to expect himself not to do the same. 

He was trying to call Aziraphale, but the angel’s phone was off the hook. He couldn’t get through. 

When he arrived at the bookshop, the Bentley blaring out a song that Crowley felt was entirely inappropriate, it was aflame. 

Crowley jumped out of the car, barely remembering to put it in park, and ran for the doors. 

The bookshop was on fire. 

“Are you the owner of this establishment?” A fireman shouted, looking over at Crowley as he approached the doors.    
“Do I look like I run a bookshop?” Crowley scoffed, glaring at the man before running into the bookshop. 

“Hey! You can’t go in there!” 

Crowley ignored him, ran into the shop, snapping his fingers to throw the doors open. “Aziraphale!” 

He looked around the store. A record was burning, running round and round on the record player. Ashes and soot and sparks flew all around him as he looked around frantically for a sign of the angel. “Aziraphale, where the Heaven are you, you idiot?” He cried, looking around frantically and finding no sign of the angel. "I can't find you!" 

He walked even further in, still searching. It felt like the world was crumbling around him. "Aziraphale! For Go- for Sat- for Somebody's sake where are you?" He cried, desperation plain in his voice. 

A window shattered behind him. Before he had time to react he was thrown backwards by a blast of ice-cold water. 

He landed on his back, stunned and out of breath. Forced himself to sit up. "Yeah," he said quietly. "You've gone." 

He sat on that for a moment before it got to be too much. "Somebody killed my best friend!" He all but shrieked, falling back against the ground of the bookshop. "Bastards! All of you!"

There hadn't been another celestial. The only spare internals had been Hastur and Ligur.

A  _ human  _ had done this. A stupid, pathetic, ungrateful undeserving human had done this to his angel. 

The one time Crowley hadn't arrived to save Aziraphale, and he was  _ gone.  _ The one time Crowley had been considering  _ being  _ what Aziraphale needed saving from, and it was all it took for Aziraphale to be  _ gone.  _

One time that he had  _ failed  _ the angel.

He had considered putting his happiness above the angel's, just for a second, and it had cost him everything. 

Had he caused this? By considering making Aziraphale Fall? Had he somehow willed tragedy upon his closest friend in the universe by daring to consider harming him? 

He sobbed, buried his face in his hands, choking on the smoke and coughing up a lung before he realized that no matter what he needed to get out of the bookshop. 

He couldn't lay on the ground and breathe in smoke, couldn't let the flames consume him. 

He had destroyed a demon. He had to stay on Earth for as long as possible. 

He was finished. 

He coughed again, choking up acidic saliva, forced himself back to his feet. Tears burned his eyes from the smoke and something else that he didn't want to mention. 

Something no demon should feel.

He picked up a book at random off the floor. It was the one the girl who had rode her bike into Crowley's car had left behind. 

Crowley burst out of the bookshop, dropped his shattered glasses on the ground and stepped back into the Bentley. 

The humans had killed Aziraphale, Crowley was in Hell's bad books and doomed to life of servitude for the rest of all eternity. 

There was no more point in trying to save this world. There was no point in doing anything other than enjoying the last few hours of the world. 

He sped off in the general direction of the first bar he could think of, and ordered a bottle of single malt scotch. 

With no one and nothing worthwhile to stop him, he set about drowning out his feelings and the rest of the undeserving world with the just right burn of scotch in his throat to stem the burn of tears. 


	19. Chapter 19

_ This is the way the world ends, not with a bang, but with a whimper _

__ _ -T S Elliott _

The world was ending. 

The world was ending and not only that, Crowley was  _ still _ out of ideas. 

Even now, at the airbase, walking up to Aziraphale and Sergeant Shadwell, Crowley did not know what to do to save  _ anything.  _

The Bentley was on fire, nuclear meltdown was fast approaching and Aziraphale couldn’t even get passed the gate.

Book or no book, the world seemed rightly doomed. Crowley didn't know what he was doing at the airbase.

He should have been hiding. Becoming small and defended and hidden away from Lucifer, to survive this as long as he could. 

He was a snake. He was good at hiding, good at sneaking in the night and surviving without being noticed. 

It might buy him a little time, and that was more than he was going to get from staying at the airbase. 

But now he was walking up to Aziraphale. "You wouldn't get that sort of performance from a modern car!" He made himself say, "hey Aziraphale, see you found a ride! Nice dress, suits you." 

Aziraphale positively preened under Crowley's praise. "Crowley! This nice young man won't let us in," Aziraphale said, pointing at the military man guarding the gates.

"Leave it to me," Crowley agreed, sauntering up to the military man. "Army human, my friend and I have come a long way, and-" 

Four children biked passed both Crowley and the guard. The gate swung open and the biked through as though this was normal. 

Crowley eyed each of them, a little girl with tightly coiled black hair, two young boys, and in the lead, a boy with curly hair who felt odd. 

A pit dropped in Crowley's stomach when he realized  _ why  _ the boy felt odd. 

Somehow, Crowley knew it was him. 

That was the Antichrist. 

That was his son. 

"Hey! Those kids are in big trouble, and so are you!" The guard shouted. "Don't move!" 

Crowley couldn't breathe, he was still staring at the disappearing figure of the boy in a blue jacket and wellies, with curly brown hair. 

He kept staring, until something exploded behind him. He whirled around to see pieces of the Bentley flying through the air, and it was just more than he could take. 

He took a few steps towards the Bentley, hit his knees. 

This was more than he could handle. He stared at the burning wreckage before him. "Ninety years and not a scratch, now look at you," Crowley breathed, ignoring the time he had cracked the tachometer and punctured the front seat. 

"Crowley! Do something!" Aziraphale snapped. 

"I am having a moment here," Crowley protested, biting his lip and staring at the flames. 

"Crowley! He has a gun! He's pointing it!" 

Crowley didn't even look. His threat was starting to feel like it had closed up, he could hardly breathe. 

Aziraphale grit his teeth and snapped his fingers. 

Instantly, the guard disappeared. 

Crowley lifted the tire iron from the ground, held it to his lips. "You were a good car," he said softly, "got me through a lot." 

It had gotten him through his pregnancy, through the job with the Dowlings and all the eighty years that had come before. 

"Crowley!" Aziraphale shouted. 

Crowley blinked and got back to his feet. "Aziraphale," he said weakly, "nice job on the soldier. Are you going to make introductions?" 

Aziraphale smiled. "Right. Crowley, this is Madame Tracy. Madame Tracy, this is Crowley. We're… business associates." 

"There's guards on the way!" Shadwell shouted. 

"I'll take care of them. Gotta get over the car thing."

"I've got a finger if you need it!" Shadwell cried. 

"You may need to brandish your weapon, Sergeant Shadwell! We are going to lick some serious butt!" 

"Kick. It's kick butt, Aziraphale, for Heaven's sakes- ugh I can't believe I just said that."

Crowley didn't want to admit to hiding behind Aziraphale when Gabriel and Beelzebub appeared, but it was exactly what he did. He couldn't look the Prince of Hell in the eyes. "L- lord Beelzebub! What an honor!" Crowley stammered, hands shaking as he tried to bow. 

"Crowley. The traitor." 

"Not a nice word."

"All the other wordzzz I have for you are worzzze. I see I wazzz right and you enjoyed your new job, working zzzo hard to make sure you keep it for the rezzzt of eternity. Your only way out wazzz to obey." 

A pit sank in Crowley's stomach and his knees shook. Aziraphale looked at him in concern as he dropped to the ground, head in his hands. 

Beelzebub was right. He'd been offered chance after chance, things he could do to get out of his situation and he hadn't done any of them. 

"Get up and stop your pathetic crying. Which one is the Antichrist? You should know," Beelzebub snarled. 

"That one," Gabriel said suddenly, pointing over at the boy. "Adam Young. He's the Antichrist." 

He was Crowley's son. Crowley wasn't sure what urge swelled up in his throat, but he jumped to his feet and put himself between Gabriel and Adam. "Don't touch him," he snapped, "you've lost. Leave him alone." 

Gabriel  _ laughed _ . Crowley was shaking so badly he could barely stay on his feet, and a little push on the shoulder sent him stumbling and he wound up back on the ground. 

Beelzebub stormed up to him. "Your maternal  _ shit  _ isn't going to help you now, Crowley. Get out of the way, and maybe I'll tell Lucifer you cooperated in the end," the snapped. 

Crowley stared up at Beelzebub from the pavement, but didn't argue any further. 

There was nothing more he could do. He glanced at Aziraphale to see if he had heard what Beelzebub had said, but the angel showed no sign either way. 

Crowley could only sit and stress as the angel and demon finished walking up to his son. 

"Young man," Gabriel began, folding his hands together with a smile. "Armageddon must restart. Immediately. Temporary inconvenience cannot get in the way of the Greater Good."

Adam frowned. "You both want the world to end, just to see who's gang is best." 

"Obviously!" Gabriel agreed, shaking his head like the answer was obvious. "It's the Great Plan! The entire reason for the creation of the Earth!" 

Adam stared at him in disbelief. Crowley started to get up, was frozen by a glare from Beelzebub. 

"I've got this," they said, interrupting Gabriel. "Adam, when this is all over, you're going to get to rule the world! Don't you want to rule the world?" 

Adam glanced from Beelzebub to Gabriel, to Aziraphale and Madame Tracy, whom he had separated, Shadwell, his friends, the girl who had hit Crowley's car, an awkward young man and finally his gaze fell on Crowley, sprawled on the ground and staring at him in despair. 

"It's hard enough thinking of things for Pepper and Wensley and Brian to do so they don't get bored. I have all the world I need, right here," Adam replied. 

"But- your destiny is written according to the Great Plan! You can't just refuse to be who you are!" Gabriel protested. 

"Ahem, if I might interrupt," Aziraphale said, taking a few steps forward.

"Aziraphale, maybe it would be best if you," Gabriel made a shushing gesture with his fingers.

Aziraphale ignored him. "You keep talking about the Great Plan, but… just to be sure, is that the Ineffable Plan, also?" 

"It izzz written! There will be a world and it will lazt for six thousand years and end in fire and flamez!" Beelzebub snapped. 

"That's the Great Plan, alright," Aziraphale agreed, "but is that the  _ Ineffable  _ Plan?" 

Gabriel scoffed, seeming baffled. "They're the same thing!" 

Crowley blinked as he realized Aziraphale's plan. "You don't know," he murmured, slowly climbing back to his feet. "Be a real pity if you thought you were doing what the Great Plan said and it actually went directly against the Ineffable Plan," he said. 

He walked up to Adam's side, ignoring the look he was getting from Beelzebub. "I mean, know one knows the Ineffable Plan, it's  _ ineffable!  _ By definition, we can't know it!" 

"But it izzz written!" Beelzebub retorted. 

"God does not play games with the universe!" Gabriel cried. 

"Where have you been?" Crowley demanded, whirling on him. "How would you know, you've been hiding in Heaven!"

Gabriel and Beelzebub turned to each other. 

"I'm going to have to talk to… Head Office about this. How I'm supposed to get ten million angels to lay down their weapons it- it doesn't bear thinking about."

"You should try getting ten million demonzzz to come down from battle arms and go back to work."

Gabriel set his mouth in a hard line. "Well, at least we know who's fault it is!" He snapped. 

Aziraphale waved. Crowley did his best to smile. 

"The boy must be defective."

"Trust a snake to produce a defective Antichrist."

"You! Adam Young!" Gabriel said, tone firm. 

"Yes," Adam replied, calm and cool. 

"You were borne onto this Earth for one reason and that was to end it! You're a disobedient little brat, and I hope someone tells your father!" 

"Oh, his father will find out. And his father will not be pleazzzed," Beelzebub assured Gabriel. 

And seconds later, both were gone. 

"Weren't they odd?" Madame Tracy remarked. 

Crowley felt something tug at his throat, tightening on his breathing. At first he thought it was nerves, until he was dragged down onto the ground, something tight closed around his throat and he was in sudden and terrible pain. "No!" He cried out, hit the ground. 

"Crowley!" 

"No no no no no no no no no!" Crowley shouted, writhing on the ground, but he couldn't up again. 

"Crowley what's happening? Something's happening, I can feel it!" 

Crowley knew the feeling looming up from below the earth too well. "They did it," he gasped, fighting not to cry. "They told his father. And his father  _ is not pleased."  _

"Oh dear," Aziraphale said quietly. 

"What's happening? Is it a volcano?" 

"There are no volcanoes in England!"

"What's happening?" Shadwell demanded. 

"Well, you can call me an old silly, but I think the devil is coming. Satan himself!" Aziraphale replied. 

"Right," Crowley said, voice numb, tears burning his eyes. "This is it. Nice knowing you."

The only thing he could hope for was that Lucifer would be do enraged he would forget his threats and destroy Crowley without another thought. 

If he didn't, then his suffering was really never going to end. Lucifer would destroy Aziraphale, the only good thing Crowley still  _ had _ , and then he would make sure Crowley never saw the sun again. 

He would suffer too unspeakably for words, and it would never end. 

He might beg Aziraphale to take the flaming sword War had left behind and end everything the moment the war started. 

"Surely there's something we can do!"

"This is the devil, Aziraphale! This is the devil and he is  _ angry!  _ This isn't about Armageddon, this is personal now, we are  _ fucked _ !"

Aziraphale stammered for a few seconds. "Do something, Crowley! Or I'll- I'll never talk to you again!"

Crowley bit his lip.

He had nothing to lose. 

He screamed, threw his hands up in the air. 

Everything stopped. 

When he could open his eyes again, everything around him was white. 

And there was Aziraphale, white wings spread behind him, and there was Adam. They were both standing there in the white sand, gazing at him intently. 

Crowley's own midnight-black wings were causing a draft around his ankles. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a new pair of sunglasses, fit them over his eyes. 

"Adam," he started, voice unimaginably soft and ready to break. "Your father is coming to destroy you. Probably… probably to destroy us all."

Adam furrowed his brow. "My father wouldn't hurt anyone," he said decisively. 

"Not your earthly father. Your real father. Your father who is no longer in Heaven. My head authority," Crowley said hushedly. "He's coming, and he's angry." 

"What do you want me to do about it? Fight him?"

Crowley shook his head. "It's what your father would expect you to do, truthfully. It's what the Son of Satan should do, but you don't  _ have  _ to be your father's son. You have a mother, too, and you can be more like her," he suggested. 

He crouched down and stared at Adam, trying to see himself somewhere in the boy.

Adam had the same sharp cheekbones Crowley had, the same shaped nose. 

Could he manage to have an influence in the child he had prayed to have nothing to do with? "Or you can just be yourself."

Adam was quiet for a good moment. "What can I do? I'm just a human."

"But that's not such a bad thing to be, Adam. I was afraid you would be your father's son, Hell incarnate. I hoped you would be Heaven incarnate. But your  _ neither  _ of those things. You're  _ much  _ better. You're  _ human  _ incarnate."

"I have to restart time again, Adam. You won't have long to do… whatever it is you're going to do. I'm sorry." 

Sorry for bringing him into the world and placing him in this destiny. Sorry for not being braver, sorry for abandoning the boy, sorry for trying to convince Aziraphale to kill the boy who was now their only chance. 

"We'll be with you the whole time, Adam. No matter what you choose to do, for good or for evil," Aziraphale added, holding a hand out to the boy. 

Adam took it, Crowley wordlessly offered one of his own.

He shuddered a little when Adam accepted. Part of him wanted to recoil but he fought it down. 

He was going to be with Adam, and he couldn't do that by avoiding the child he had helped create.

Adam was his son, and Crowley  _ had  _ to stand with him now. He had no choice. It was that, or die to Adam's father. "Reality will listen to you, Adam. Do it fast." 

Time slipped from Crowley's grasp and he fell back into the world. 

Adam took a few steps forwards, and Crowley collapsed against Aziraphale's side, pain resuming the second time started. He could barely hold himself upright with Aziraphale's help, and he stumbled a bit.

"I've got you, Crowley, it's alright," Aziraphale murmured, reaching an arm around to hold him up by the elbows. 

"Sorry," Crowley murmured. 

"If the Almighty didn't want me to be, I doubt I would be in a better state were She here, Crowley. There's no shame."

Crowley nodded gratefully, and didn't bother to include that he wasn't falling over just because of Satan's power. 

His legs wouldn't hold him up anymore, maybe because of His presence, maybe because of the Pavlovian response to fall to his knees. 

Only the devil didn't need you to beg for forgiveness. 

He had more useful things for you to do while kneeling.


	20. Chapter 20

_Even if I knew tomorrow the world would go up in ashes, I would still plant my apple tree_

  * _Martin Luther_



The very foundation of the Earth cracked open, and a figure much more terrifying than Crowley had seen lately clawed its way up from the abyss. 

Crowley could hardly stay standing, he squeezed his eyes shut and leaned against Aziraphale’s shoulder. He could feel Satan’s gaze on him, making his skin crawl, and he was trying so hard to be strong for Adam but he just couldn’t do it. He was absolutely terrified, he didn’t know what to do. 

**YOU. ADAM YOUNG.**

The voice grated at the back of Crowley’s skull, he fought the urge to curl inwards and cover his ears as though it would work. 

**YOU’RE MY SON? YOU’RE MY REBELLIOUS SON?**

There was a moment’s pause. 

**YOUR MOTHER NAMED YOU, AFTER ALL.**

Crowley hadn’t thought of that until it was said, as he sobbed, hid his face against Aziraphale’s shoulder as soon as Lucifer had finished speaking. 

He _had_ named the Antichrist. On the night that had never happened, the night he refused to acknowledge. The night Lucifer had broken his wrist and threatened to kill both him and the Antichrist. 

_Prove that you care about our son, Crawley."_

_"Anything!'”_

_"What have you called him?"_

And Crowley had said the name that first came to mind, the first name that held any relevance to him. 

_Adam._ The first man. One half of the first sinners. Crowley had pushed that night out of his mind, refused to think about it since it had happened but Satan was _right._

Adam Young had the first name that _Crowley_ had given him, in a cruel twist of fate. When he had met Warlock Dowling a month after giving birth, he had foolishly believed that he was safe, and now, standing before him, was Adam Young, named exactly what Crowley had come up with in a moment of fear and desperation. 

It wasn’t fair. 

Adam stood stoney still, cool as a cucumber as Satan rushed towards him. 

**COME HERE!**

Adam obeyed without another word, taking several steps forward. “You’re not my dad,” he said simply, staring up into the face that had terrified Crowley for years. “Dads don’t wait until you’re eleven to say hello and then turn up to tell you off.”

**WHAT?**

“If I’m going to be in trouble with my dad, it won’t be with you. It’s gonna be the dad who was there. You’re not my dad!” 

**WHAT DID YOU SAY?**

“You can do it!” Aziraphale called. Crowley forced his mouth to work, forced himself to look up at the small boy standing between himself and the worst fate imaginable. 

“Say it Adam!” He cried, still leaning heavily on Aziraphale. “Say it again!” 

Adam was the only one who could sever his tie to Lucifer. Crowley didn't have the luxury of bending reality, but the boy could. he could change things, the world didn't have to end because he existed.

Even though Crowley would still have to suffer, at least Adam wouldn't and the world would survive to fight another day.

**COME HERE!**

“You’re not my dad. You never were. Leave, and don’t come back.”

For a second, nothing happened, and Crowley was terrified it hadn’t worked. 

Then Lucifer began to disappear.

**NO, NO, NO NO NO NO NO!**

By the time he was finished screaming, he had turned to dust and been replaced with a car speeding towards them.

A man stepped out of the car. “Adam! Oh, for Heaven’s sake what are you doing here?”

Everything froze. But Crowley wasn’t the one who had done it this time. 

For a second, he thought somehow Satan had managed to come back after Adam had banished him, that he was the reason time was stopped and Crowley was in just as much danger as he had been before. 

Then the young Antichrist took a step towards him. “I can be my mother’s son, instead of my father’s? I think I would prefer that, too.” He asked, but Crowley didn’t think he was really teasing. “It’s good to meet you, but I don't think that you want me to call you mum. Or dad, for that matter.” 

Crowley winced. “How do you know?” He asked, fighting to keep his composure. 

He didn’t know how to feel. He knew Adam Young was his son, but he also knew that he had never _wanted_ to have a son. He knew just standing next to Adam twisted him up inside and made him sick. 

His son had just saved the world. Had just defeated Satan, and he should have been proud but he still felt ill at the sight of the boy he’d been forced to have. It still stirred up far too many unpleasant memories, made his entire being twist and roil uncomfortably. 

“I just knew,” Adam replied, “the moment I saw you. Beelzebub told you not to act all maternal, which helped, but I knew who you were the second I saw you at the gate.” 

Crowley was silent, throat swelling up before he managed to swallow it down. “Then you’ve heard both your parents try to have you killed today,” he said, hands shaking. “I’m sorry, Adam, you shouldn’t have-”

“I understand,” Adam said simply, “I understand why you asked your angel friend to kill me. I can only imagine what Satan would have done to _you_ if the world had ended.” 

Crowley was silent again. 

“I don’t imagine anyone would want to have Satan’s son. I can’t imagine you ever _wanted_ to have me.”

“It’s a terrible thing to say to your own son,” Crowley said quietly, tears brimming in his voice, slipping down his cheeks. 

“It’s alright, Crowley. I have parents who love me. Deidre and Arthur Young. I don’t need you to want me. You don’t ever have to see me again, not if you don’t want to. I’m the Antichrist, after all. If I tell the world not to cross our paths, they won’t cross. You’ll never have to see me again, and you can set all of this behind you. I know Lucifer was cruel to you, it’s obvious. You don’t ever have to be reminded of any of this again, you can live the rest of your time on Earth and never have to think about me again.” 

Crowley couldn’t answer. 

He couldn’t tell Adam that he didn’t want to see him again. He wasn’t sure if it was true, and if he was he couldn’t bring himself to say it to his own son. 

Adam smiled. “I don’t have the same limits on how long I can hold this.You can sit and think as long as you like, or I could make you a deal.” 

Crowley silently gestured for Adam to continue. 

“I can give you the power. Offer it to you. If you ever wanted to see me, and you really wanted to, it would happen. If you didn't, we would never see each other again, and I promise you, Crowley, you wouldn't hurt me by doing so. I am fully prepared for either of your decisions. I have a family who loves me and I don't need you to, but if you want us to get to know each other, I'd be happy to."

Crowley finally managed an answer. "Doesn't matter what I want. You can't get rid of His power over me. I won't be around to worry about anymore, not on Earth," he said quietly. 

It was startling to realize how resigned to that fate he was. How smoothly he had realized that even without the end of the world, he didn't escape. He didn't get off free, he was still in danger. He had _only_ saved the world.

Adam Young shook his head. "Lucifer is banished from Earth. He _can't_ come back for you. Not now, not ever. You _are_ safe." 

"If anything happens to me, I go back to Hell and I'm fair game. It's sheer dumb luck I haven't been discorporated yet." 

Adam smiled, a mischievous smile that Crowley found oddly familiar. "Will it work if I tell you that's not something you have to worry about?" He asked. 

Crowley stared at him for a moment. "I've just betrayed all of Hell."

"And you're going to come out okay. I have the power, I have the glory, that's what the voices kept saying, and that's more power than Satan has, or anyone in Hell." 

Adam smiled up at him. "You're _safe._ Least I could do after all you've been through because of me."

"No," Crowley said, suddenly fiercely protective. "Not because of you. You had no say, I've _always_ known that. I never blamed you. Don't hold yourself responsible for what happens to a demon, it's just what happens to us." 

Adam Young nodded again. He looked incredibly sad to hear what Crowley had just said, but he didn't mention it and Crowley couldn't fathom why he would be upset. "I'll leave the choice with you, Crowley. If you ever do want to see me again, it will happen. But you'll have to actually want it, not feel guilty and as though you _should_ see me." 

Crowley swallowed, hard. "'ve only been away eleven years. When did you get so grown up?" 

He tried to think of Adam as the squalling baby he had fallen asleep in the Bentley with, infant nestled in his arms so shortly after giving birth. 

Couldn't quite manage it. 

"I'm the Antichrist as well as an eleven-year-old boy. I know all sorts of things that I shouldn't. Now, I'm going to let things finish. You should go home and rest. You've a busy day tomorrow." 

Crowley didn't doubt that he did. Time slipped back into its natural place and the man, who must have been Arthur Young, resumed yelling at the children. 

"That's not… _really_ his father," Aziraphale said, pointing at thean. 

"It is _now,_ and it always was. He did it," Crowley replied, finally managing to stand up on his own. 

"Are you alright?" Aziraphale asked, turning to look directly at the demon. 

Crowley had lied through his teeth while answering that question for years, but for the first time, he found he didn't really have to.

He didn't know how he _felt_ about Adam, but he trusted what the boy had said. He trusted, at least for now, that he was safe. "I think I am," he agreed, "we should find a bus stop. I can't drive us home, the Bentley is gone."

He still wasn't quite prepared to accept that, but he supposed he was better off than Aziraphale, having lost his home. 

Aziraphale nodded, and after bidding ado to the others at the airbase, Adam carefully giving Crowley some distance, the angel and the demon set off to get back to London. 

They found themselves seated in the middle of Tadfield when night set in, drinking from an old bottle of Chateauneuf du Pape. Aziraphale had a cardboard box with a crown, sword and scales hidden within it sitting beside him on the bench. 

"Well, it seems it's all worked out for the best. Imagine how badly things could have gone if we had been at all competent," Aziraphale remarked, taking a long swig from the bottle and passing it to Crowley. 

Crowley gulped down a mouthful of wine, grateful to let it dull his senses, just a little. He thought about what Aziraphale had just said. 

Thought about how different it might have been if he had known all along that Warlock Dowling was not his son. If he and Aziraphale had spent eleven years influencing Adam instead of the son of the American Ambassador. 

Somehow, he figured Aziraphale was right. It wouldn't have turned out as nicely if they had been right. 

Adam didn't need help. He was a good kid, and Crowley knew on some level he should be proud. 

He thought that on some level, buried deep inside where it couldn't hurt him anymore, he _was_ proud of Adam. "Eh, point taken," he agreed. "What's that?" He asked, pointed to a slip of paper Aziraphale was fiddling with. 

The angel passed it to him.

_When alle is fayed and all is done, ye must choofe your faces wisely, for soon enouff ye will be playing with fyre._

"So that's Agnes Nutter's final prophecy?" Crowley asked, frowning as he stared at the slip of paper. 

"As far as I know, yes," Aziraphale agreed, "the final advice she needed to give. Armageddon is stopped, Lucifer defeated and Adam is human again, I can't imagine what this warning is about."

Crowley knew Adam wasn't quite human. Whether he declared Lucifer to not be his father or not, he still had tremendous power. 

But he didn't correct the angel. He just nodded. 

"Angel," Crowley began as an International Express delivery truck drove by them, "what is the Almighty planned it this way all along?" 

"I wouldn't put it passed Her," Aziraphale decided. 

The truck parked and a man walked towards them. Crowley ignored it. 

"From what I remember, She was never one for giving a straight answer anyways. She would just look at you and smile, as if She knew something you didn't." 

"Well, She _is_ God. That is sort of the point."

Planning the events this way took more than Crowley had initially realized it would. As he sat and thought about what Aziraphale had confirmed, he truly thought about what he had just said. 

If the Almighty had always planned it this way, then She had needed an angel and a demon who would work together. No other pair would have stopped the end of the world.

And so, if She had planned it this way, She had always known that Crowley would Fall. In fact, She had designed him to dive headfirst into a pool of boiling sulfur at Her very whims. To suffer six thousand years years of wondering what he had done wrong, just wanting to know, just being curious, just so that the end of the world as She had dictated it in a plan that She never wanted followed wouldn't happen. 

She had known the Antichrist had to be born. After the birth of Her son, Jesus Christ, She must have known how the conception of the Antichrist would happen. 

Crowley didn't doubt that She had, in fact, known all along.

Had She, therefore, known all along that it would be Crowley who Fell and suffered this way? Had She decided at the very event of his creation that his purpose in the world would be to Fall and to be forced to carry the Antichrist for ten miserable months, forced to raise the wrong boy believing he was his son for eleven years. 

What had he done, in the split second before his consciousness truly formed and his fate was sealed, to have Her decide he was deserving of such a fate? 


	21. Chapter 21

Crowley had almost not let Aziraphale go to hell in his stead, no matter how insistent the angel was that it was their only choice. 

It was just too risky, too much to place in trust. There was too much risk. The angel, wearing Crowley's form, in Hell, the domain Adam hadn't banned Lucifer from.

Crowley wasn't even sure that he was going to believe Adam when he said that the devil could not return to Earth, how was he supposed to believe that his Angel would be safe in Hell?

It had been the Bentley, sitting repaired outside his flat, that had made him realize that Adam was in the process of setting the world right. That had made him realize that if Adam said there was no more danger, then he could believe his son. Things would turn out alright. Adam would have told him if something would happen to Aziraphale.

It didn't mean Crowley wasn't nervous, as he sat on the bench in St. James park and waited for Aziraphale to return from Hell. The longer he sat, alone in the bench, still wearing the angel's form, the more convinced he became that he had been wrong to trust Adam. That either somehow the ruse was up, they had executed Aziraphale after all, or that he had been forced to stick around for other reasons. 

If the Lord of Hell was keeping his angel busy in the most vile away possible. 

Crowley knew, realistically, that he only sat on the bench for about five minutes before Aziraphale returned. It only felt like an eternity before the angel walked up to him. 

Aziraphale's eyes, currently being used by Crowley, scanned the angel's figure, which was currently that of the demon. 

He sought to root out any indication that something terrible had happened, but he knew that form was so accustomed to hiding what could be done, it wouldn't take effort on Aziraphale's part. 

The angel sat down beside him, sitting perfectly straight, a look that didn't suit Crowley's snakey form. 

Aziraphale spoke first. "Do you think they'll leave us alone, from now on?" 

His voice shocked Crowley out of his contemplation. "At a guess, they'll pretend it never happened," the demon managed to reply, sounding a little off, even to himself.

"Anyone looking?" Aziraphale asked, taking a seat on the bench beside Crowley. 

Crowley pressed his fingers to his temples and closed his eyes, focused hard on their surroundings. "No one." 

"Right," Aziraphale smiled, held out a hand. "Switch back, then."

Crowley took the angel's hand and let himself slip back into his own form. 

He was immediately reassured to realize that he would have _felt_ it now, if Lucifer had done something to Aziraphale. The devil would not be in a forgiving mood after Crowley averted the apocalypse and coached their son through defeating his father, and Crowley didn't doubt he would have felt something other than the odd feeling of healing he'd been enjoying the last week or two. 

Lucifer had been busy with Armageddon. 

Too busy to keep up his regular visits. Crowley was unaccustomed to not suffering in some way from one of Lucifer's visits, but now he almost felt better, a feeling that had been foreign to him for over ten years. 

Lucifer hadn't laid a finger on his angel. 

Crowley caught Aziraphale looking nervously at him. "Oh, they'll leave us alone. If you ask me, both sides are going to use this as breathing room before the big one." 

"The big one?" Aziraphale echoed, "I thought this _was_ the big one!" 

Crowley shook his head. "I think the _really_ big one is going to be all of us," he gestured around the park, "against all of _them."_

"Heaven and Hell versus… humanity?" Aziraphale sounded dumbfounded. "I never considered-"

"I reckon we'll have lots of time to plan for that one. Besides, maybe we're better off not planning. For now, can I _tempt_ you to a spot of lunch?"

Aziraphale smirked. "Temptation accomplished! I believe a table for two has just _miraculously_ become available at the Ritz!"

"What are the odds?" Crowley laughed. 

He followed Aziraphale through the park, to the Ritz, let a hostess lead them to the newly available table. 

"Can I get you two anything to drink?" 

Crowley opened his mouth, but Aziraphale motioned for him to hush. "A bottle of your finest champagne," he replied, smiling over at Crowley, "I think we've earned it."

Crowley decided he could work with that decision, let the woman walk off to select a bottle. 

Aziraphale didn't say anything until someone walked back over, popped open the bottle and filled both their flutes. 

"I like to think," Aziraphale began, looking carefully over at the demon, "that none of this would have worked out if you weren't, at heart, just a _bit_ of a nice person." 

The usual frustration flared at Aziraphale's remark, but he swallowed it down. 

Instead, he smiled, held his glass out to Aziraphale. "And if you weren't, deep down, just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing. To the world, angel," he said. 

Aziraphale tapped their glasses together. "To the _world_."

Crowley was so distracted by the angel, he didn't even remember what he'd ordered by the time it arrived. It didn't really matter since he'd ordered it expressly to share with Aziraphale. 

He barely tasted the bites he took, which wasn't all nerves. (He had never quite gotten used to chewing). His Angel seemed to enjoy whatever it was he had ordered, and really, that was good enough for him.

He didn't feel familiar with how happy and calm he was. It was new and strange to be able to believe that he was going to be alright. There would be no more visitors in the dead of night, he could finally move on with his life and set his transgressions behind him. 

Maybe after six thousand more years he would forget about how he had disgraced his best friend with fantasies provided by the King of Hell. 

For now, calmness was foreign. He didn't know what to do with it. His mind still braced for the next swing, the one not coming. 

He no longer knew _how_ to stop bracing for it. 

Lucifer had so long kept him on edge that he didn’t know what to do now that he was on solid ground again. 

Aziraphale cleared his throat to get Crowley’s attention. The serpent blinked, looked down at the empty plates sitting before them. “Dessert, angel?” He offered, knowing Aziraphale had never said no to dessert in all his six thousand years. 

But today was a surprise for more than one reason. “Crowley,” Aziraphale began, “take me home, darling.” 

Crowley stared for a moment, processing both what Aziraphale had just said and what it could _mean_ , and the fact that the angel had refused dessert. 

He was serious. “Course, angel,” he croaked, reaching into his pocket for enough bank notes to cover the champagne and lunch, and leave a generous tip, which was Aziraphale’s insistence every time they dined out since tipping had become mainstream custom. 

Aziraphale had not driven the Bentley to Saint James’ Park, but Crowley still found it on the street where he expected it to. He pulled open the door for Aziraphale, who climbed into the passenger’s seat. 

Crowley went and settled himself into the driver’s side. Adam had somehow managed to get the perfect wear in the Bentley’s seat right, his hands fit into the normal spots on the steering wheel as though the car had never been burned the day before.

He didn’t mention Aziraphale’s phrasing, the connotations often found around such a phrase. He doubted the angel would understand what he was saying, anyways. “Where to, then? The bookshop? I’m sure you want to see it now, it looks much better than it did while it was on fire and stuff.”

“When did you go and see it, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, frowning. 

“When we saw that the Bentley was back I wanted to be able to give you good news, so before we met back up in Saint James’ Park I went and checked on your bookshop. It’s all back, nothing out of place, although Adam gave you a couple of new books. They’re first editions, if you don’t want them they would probably sell for a pretty penny.”

“You know I don’t actually sell books, Crowley,” Aziraphale protested, “and I had meant you apartment, but wherever you’re comfortable. I would love to see the bookshop.”

That made up Crowley’s mind. He drove them to the bookshop, never dropping his speed below ninety miles an hour. They were back at the classic old bookshop that looked like nothing had ever happened to it the day previous before anyone could blink. 

Aziraphale gave him a grateful smile and led him inside, poured them some wine and let Crowley get settled as he normally did on the couch before he sat down next to the demon.

Crowley was surprised, but he didn’t say anything about it, just took a sip of his red wine. 

It was a bit odd, how Aziraphale was behaving, but he decided to ignore it. 

“Crowley?” Aziraphale began, looking over at the Serpent of Eden. Crowley looked over at the angel. 

“Yes?” 

“I have something that I feel the need to confess to you, I ought to have done it a long time ago and it was foolish to let us walk us into our executions without my having said anything, now that I think about it. I fairly regret it,” Aziraphale decided, smiling, “and I don’t think either of us should be holding onto any regrets anymore.”

Crowley contemplated what the angel said, nodded along. “I suppose you have a point, angel. No sense in regretting anything anymore.”  
Where the Hell was he going with that? He was sort of making Crowley nervous, the demon didn’t know why but he _was_ nervous.

Aziraphale smiled at him. “Precisely, my dear boy. And I understand if you have nothing to say to this confession, I don’t expect you to say anything in return. I just thought that you should know that…. I’m afraid I’ve quite fallen in love with you, Crowley. Ever since the church, when you saved me and the books and-” 

Crowley rushed forwards before Aziraphale could say anything, pressed his lips up against the angel’s. “Only since the church?” He asked, smiling, “you’ve hardly been pining _at all._ Nothing like I have, and you still are braver than me. You still manage to say it before me.”

Aziraphale was very quiet for a moment. “Crowley, how long have you held feelings for me?” He dared ask. 

“Since you told me you gave away your flaming sword to the humans. You have _no idea_ how badly I felt about getting them kicked out of the garden, angel, I was certain they were going to die out there and it was my fault and there was nothing I could do about it, and the first angel I meet since the Fall just gave them his sword because he was worried about them, too. I didn’t know it then, but I know that’s when I fell again,” Crowley said decisively. 

Aziraphale gasped, trailed his fingers gently, tenderly, along the side of Crowley’s face. “Since Eden, darling?” he made Crowley nod and confirm it again, even though they both knew that was what Crowley had said. “Six thousand years you’ve held onto those feelings? You never gave up on me?” 

“Never.” 

It was true. Crowley had never once even considered _trying_ to move on, he had just sat in silence and let his feelings run awry as he attempted to keep his life under control. 

It had worked until Lucifer had interfered, Until the devil had stepped in and ruined everything, exploited the feelings Crowley’d held onto for millennia and corrupted everything that he had ever felt for the angel. 

Now, Aziraphale stared at him as though it was the most shocking and sweet thing he’d heard all his life. “Kiss me again, Crowley?” 

Aziraphale didn’t need to convince him, Crowley complied happily, leaning forward and pressing his lips back against the angel’s, ignoring the way his insides twisted as he did so. 

He didn’t want to acknowledge the twist, so he didn’t. It wasn’t a feeling that he liked. 

He pressed in closer to Aziraphale, the angel tasted sweet and the wine on his mouth made it easier to ignore the twisting, roiling feeling that was trying to drive him crazy. 

He focused on the taste of the wine and nothing else. Aziraphale had the bitter-sweet taste on his lips and Crowley parted his own to get another taste, let the tart flavour get his focus rather than anything else. 

He loved Aziraphale, and he was not going to let anything ruin that for him. He was going to enjoy this. 

After a few more moments, Crowley’s tongue worrying a little at the angel’s lips, hopefully just enough to be sexy and appealing and not strange, Aziraphale broke away. “Upstairs?” he offered, already started to stand up before Crowley had even nodded. 

The demon slithered back to his feet and followed Aziraphale up the stairs and around the corner into what he _knew_ was the angel’s bedroom even though he was fairly sure it was never used and he had never seen it. 

Within the room, there was a plush, large bed covered in a tartan bedspread, which almost made Crowley laugh, but he was still fighting down the sickening anxiety so he couldn’t force the sound to be genuine. 

Aziraphale looked at him funny, but probably decided it was just ordinary nerves. He took Crowley hands and sat him back carefully on the bed, straddling the demon’s hips and leaning in to kiss him again, making sure that Crowley didn’t think he could be pushing too far this time by slipping his tongue into the demon’s mouth. 

Crowley let out a sound that was somewhere between a soft moan and a whine before he could stop himself, mentally berated himself when Aziraphale looked up at him in concern. He smile encouragingly and tangled his fingers into Aziraphale’s hair, pulling him closer and leaving no doubt that he was enthused by this, even though the doubt still lingered deep in his stomach. 

This was different. Aziraphale _wanted_ him, this was different than any of the fantasies Lucifer had provided, this was alright and Crowley wasn’t going to ruin it by being reminded of how the devil would move once he had Crowley in such a delicate position, once he had the snake completely at his mercy.   
At the slightest push against his chest, Crowley tipped backwards onto the tartan blankets, let the angel crawl on top of him, untie his sash and begin unfastening the buttons of his shirt. “Is this too much?” The angel asked, meeting Crowley’s eyes for a moment and holding him in an intense gaze as he waited for the demon’s answer. 

“‘S perfect,” Crowley lied through his teeth, tipped his head back, knowing it would look like he was enjoying himself but it kept him away from Aziraphale’s gaze. 

The angel’s fingers slipped under the unfastened halves of his shirt, fingers grazing his nipples and all of the sudden Crowley couldn’t breathe. Not even a little bit. He couldn’t get any air into his lungs, he waited for the mocking voice to start, waited to be ordered to lie more still or look at Lucifer and he couldn’t tell the angel to stop, that wasn’t allowed. 

He went stiff as a board under Aziraphale, but he didn’t say to stop. After a moment he managed to force his limbs to relax, made himself part his legs and offer himself to the angel even though he wanted nothing more than to run screaming from the room because you _did not stop Lucifer._ You couldn’t stop Lucifer. He didn’t let you. 

“Crowley? Is something wrong?” 

Aziraphale had stopped, withdrawn his hands and sat back on his haunches. Crowley shook his head desperately, eyes squeezed shut, determined not to let Aziraphale know how wrong everything was. It wasn’t his job to let the angel know what was wrong, it was his job to lie there and take it and that was what he was going to do. 

Aziraphale rolled off of him anyways, sat beside the demon. “Crowley, tells me what’s wrong, darling, something’s wrong, I can tell.” 

And with that, Crowley burst into tears. 


	22. Chapter 22

"Crowley? Crowley? Crowley! Crowley, darling! Listen to me, my dear, it’s alright, we’ve stopped, please, just breathe,” Aziraphale said soothingly, stroking his fingers gently along the side of Crowley’s face as he gasped for breath, trying to choke down tears. 

He rolled over, curled in on himself, trying to avoid Aziraphale’s gaze as he sobbed, hot tears of shame pouring down his cheeks. 

He felt sick, he was ready to retch and choke and cough up anything in his stomach. 

“Crowley, it’s alright, we don’t have to be ready, my darling, I didn’t even think-”

Aziraphale cut himself off. 

Crowley froze and looked up at Aziraphale, slowly sat up. "How long have you known?" Crowley asked softly, tears still streaking his cheeks from where he sat across from Aziraphale on the bed. 

He immediately gave up his pretence, gave up trying to hide. He was sobbing after having spent five minutes under the angel, there was no sense in trying to hide anything from Aziraphale anymore. It all had to come out into the open, he had to tell Aziraphale  _ why _ he was acting like this and it  _ sounded _ like Aziraphale already had a clue.

Of course, Hell might have said something. Hastur would have wanted to rub his nose in the shame he’d been put through, press his face into the dirt and step down on the back of his head, leaving him down in the muck and slime and shit he’d been thrown headfirst into. 

"How long have I known what, dear?" Aziraphale replied, keeping his voice low and gentle. 

Was he being deliberately cruel? Forcing Crowley to say it? Forcing him to come clean on everything he’d been trying to keep under wraps for the last ten years? Was this Aziraphale making Crowley suffer for lying? For not being able to handle himself in a consensual position that he should have been happy to be in, nestled in between the angel’s thighs and breathing in the taste of his sweet breath and he couldn’t handle it so Aziraphale made him suffer for it? 

“Crowley? What do you believe I know? That I’ve known for a while?” Aziraphale asked, looking carefully at the snake. “Darling, please tell me, it’s alright, my love. You can tell me anything, you know you can,” the angel insisted, he was impossibly gentle as he spoke, not reaching out to touch again, letting Crowley keep his distance and try to recompose himself, try to get a grip of himself. 

"That- that Adam is my- that he's my son," Crowley finished, sniffled and wiped some of the tears away. 

Aziraphale was silent for a moment. "I  _ really  _ began to suspect at the airbase," he admitted, "it was confirmed while I was in Hell. Hastur said… he said all sorts of repulsive things."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Crowley asked despairingly, more tears gathering in his eyes. "If you knew what I was hiding why wouldn't you say anything?" 

"Crowley," Aziraphale's voice was impossibly gentle, the demon sobbed before the angel could continue. He didn't deserve that gentleness. ""I refuse to rob you of your privacy, Crowley," he explained, "until you were comfortable telling me, I refused to make you do so. Enough people have forced you into things, I was not going to be one of them. I care too much for you to do such a thing."

"I  _ wasn't  _ raped," Crowley said forcefully, and he almost fully believed it this time. "No one forced me to do anything I didn't agree to let them do." 

Aziraphale didn't respond. He still seemed concerned. Crowley had expected him to recoil, but he didn't do that, either. "I believe you, dear," he promised, "but I don't think you  _ wanted  _ to have Adam. And even if you did, there's a reason you didn't tell me about it and I'm not here to judge you. I'm your friend, Crowley, I'm here to support you, however you need me to."

Crowley sobbed again. 

"Something is bothering you, Crowley. I know because of how you reacted. But you don't have to tell me if you don't want to. I can leave and let you sleep-"

"No!" 

Crowley sounded even more terrified now than he had before, it made Aziraphale's heart ache. "I won't go if you don't want me to, darling. I can stay here and read, lie with you on the bed, anything you want." 

"Don't coddle me!" Crowley snapped suddenly. "Don't coddle me, Zira, I'm not some frightened  _ victim _ and I don't need you to pander me!" 

Aziraphale forced himself to remain calm, no matter how much Crowley was making him want to lash out at something, although not at Crowley. "I'm not coddling you, Crowley. I  _ want _ to do what you would like me to. I  _ want  _ to do this."

"I don't deserve it," Crowley said quietly, looking away from Aziraphale. 

"Darling, why would you say that?" Aziraphale asked. 

"'m just a demon, Zira, just a dirty, vile,  _ disgusting  _ demon and you're not  _ supposed  _ to do something I would  _ like.  _ S'not what demons are  _ for."  _

"Please don't talk about yourself like that, Crowley," Aziraphale whispered, "you're  _ not  _ any of those things."

"You know why I agreed?" Crowley spat, jerking his head up and staring into Aziraphale's eyes. His own were cloudy and fully yellow, full of tears. "You know why I agreed to let Lucifer make me have the Antichrist, Aziraphale, because if you do I'm sure you won't think the same way!"

Aziraphale didn't say anything. He let Crowley continue. 

"He made me think he was  _ you,"  _ Crowley said, voice suddenly very, very small. His head tipped down again and more tears slid down his cheeks. "S'all he had to do." 

Aziraphale fought  _ hard  _ to reign in everything he was feeling, but he couldn't stop his hands from shaking with rage. 

How  _ dare  _ Lucifer do such a thing? How  _ dare  _ he twist Crowley's personal feelings against the serpent to make him feel responsible for being assaulted? How  _ dare  _ Lucifer twist up the truth of what he was doing and corrupt any feelings Crowley had until the demon believed this was all his own fault? 

How dare he make Crowley feel  _ guilty  _ and  _ dirty  _ for having wants and desires? 

Aziraphale had been angry at how Hastur had spoken of Crowley during the trial. 

That anger was  _ nothing _ compared to how he felt now. It was all he could do not to flee from the flat, summon back his sword and march in Hell. 

He would make it so that Satan wouldn't be  _ able  _ to do this to Crowley again. 

"Crowley?" 

The demon flinched. "Don't," he pleaded, still refusing to look up. "Don't, please, don't say anything. Just- just go." 

Aziraphale paused a moment. "Do you want me to leave?" 

"You don't want to stay. Not with me." 

Aziraphale sighed. "Crowley, I'm not angry with you," he said gently, "I'm angry  _ for  _ you. No one should have done that to you." 

"He kept coming back," Crowley said quietly, the floodgates opened and he couldn't stop talking no matter how much he wanted to. "Even after he knew it had worked. He kept coming back, kept pretending he was you… and I kept letting him." 

"You didn't let anyone do anything, darling," Aziraphale said gently. 

"I would have let  _ you. _ "

"Crowley, darling, I think you know from our encounter this evening that I have no ground to stand on if I were going to try to judge you for having exploitable desires, but I wouldn't regardless. You're not the wrongdoer for wanting something and having it turned against you," Aziraphale said, voice quiet, patient, "and I think you  _ know  _ I would have let you, as well, and would you be sitting here blaming me if I were in your shoes?"

"Of course not!"

"Then why do you blame yourself, love?"

Crowley sobbed. Aziraphale reached a hand out to touch his shoulder, to hold him close and let him cry onto the soft, worn-in shoulder of his coat instead of burying his face in his hands but Crowley flinched the moment Aziraphale reached out, and the angel yanked his hand back. 

Every time in the last twelve years that Aziraphale had reached out to Crowley, it had been Lucifer. Every time his fingers had grazed Crowley's skin it had been to abuse and hurt him. "My poor, dear boy," Aziraphale breathed, sitting on top of his hands so he wouldn't reach out again. "Darling, is there some way I can help-"

"Stop  _ pitying  _ me, Zira, it doesn't help anyone," Crowley mumbled, "please you can think it's as awful as you want but stop  _ pitying  _ me I don't want you to." 

Aziraphale nodded. He snapped his fingers and a thick woolen blanket appeared in his hands, which he held carefully out to Crowley. 

"What's this for?" Crowley asked suspiciously, frowning at Aziraphale.

"Well, darling, I would very much like to be able to hold you, it's  _ killing  _ me to let you sit and cry but I  _ know  _ you need me to, Crowley. I know you need me not to reach out to you so I thought… it's a blanket, love. Infused with a little heavenly grace. I thought it could be like someone was holding you but- but he couldn't have faked heavenly grace. It's the one part of me he  _ can't  _ have faked. The one thing I can still offer, Crowley," Aziraphale said softly, and the demon nodded, dumbstruck, and took the blanket from Aziraphale with shaky hands. 

He held it in his hands for a few moments, then gathered the whole works in his arms, buried his face in the soft cream wool.

Aziraphale let out just the  _ slightest  _ sigh of relief as Crowley sobbed into the blanket, clinging tightly to it, knuckles going white. 

Aziraphale offered him the slightest smile when he looked back up, with tears gathered in his eyes. 

"What did Adam say to you at the airbase, Crowley?" Aziraphale asked, staring intently at him. 

"He- he told me he had good parents. A loving mum, a good dad, that he doesn't need me to look after him if I don't want to," Crowley said quietly. Took a deep, shaky breath. "He said if I asked him to, he would make it so our paths didn't cross again. That I'd never have to see him again." 

Aziraphale was quiet. "Did you agree?" 

Crowley shook his head. "I… I wasn't sure that  _ was  _ what I wanted. It's not  _ his _ fault, Aziraphale. It's not his fault and I don't know if I can just  _ abandon  _ him because of how he was conceived. He's  _ mine  _ and he's  _ my  _ responsibility and that doesn't go away just because I didn't ask for him to exist."

"If you intend to face him again… you don't have to do it alone, Crowley. This isn't something you have to handle on your own."

"He's not your son. He's not your responsibility." 

"To you, Crowley, he very nearly  _ is _ mine. That's enough for me. Why, just the fact that he's  _ yours  _ is enough for me. I won't leave you on your own in this, Crowley. Your struggles are mine, too."

"That's not fair to you, you got no say in his existence-"

"Neither did you," Aziraphale said, voice unimaginably soft. "You had the same amount of say in Adam's existence that I did, Crowley, and if you intend to hold yourself responsible, I intend to be there with you. I  _ wasn't  _ there for you when you needed me and we both know I  _ wouldn't  _ have been there even if I'd known. I was too afraid of Heaven and concerned about the right thing, I would have hurt you somehow if I had known, but I'm here now, and I'll never leave your side."

Crowley sobbed again and buried his face even further in the blanket than before, letting the soft, glowing warmth of Aziraphale’s grace warm his skin and almost,  _ almost _ make it easier to breathe. He sniffled, reached up and wiped his eyes. “I’m sorry, Aziraphale,” he said, barely getting the words out before Aziraphale shushed him, gently, ever so gently. 

“You have nothing whatsoever to apologize for, my dear.  _ Nothing. _ You haven’t done anything wrong, my darling, and I should have realized that you may be suffering a little. Dearest, it’s alright. You’ve nothing to be sorry for, darling. Nothing at all. How about you try to get some sleep, my dearest Crowley, I’ll stand guard and ensure your safety. No harm will come to you, and you’ll not have anything to fear. This is going to take some time to recover from, my dear-”

“Why? Nothing happened to me that I didn’t allow, why should it take a while to recover?” Crowley demanded, head snapping up from where it was buried in the cream-coloured blanket. “I have nothing to recover from, Aziraphale, I don’t understand why the Hell you think I have anything I need to recover from! I should be fine! There's no reason for any of this!" 

He all but threw the blanket to the side, lunged forwards towards Aziraphale to try to convince them both of that fact and Aziraphale ever so gently grabbed his wrists and convinced him to stop moving. 

"Crowley, you can't force yourself out of feeling this way, darling. If you're feeling this way then you can't force yourself not to, darling, and we'll simply have to wait and see if things change in the future. I won't push you and I don't allow you to use me to push yourself. You can't do this to yourself, darling, it's not healthy."

"Nothing happened! Stop talking to me like a victim, nothing happened! I had the Antichrist, Lucifer decided he liked visiting so he kept it up-"

"He did it more than once?" 

"Surprised you never bumped into him on your way out of my flat at the Dowlings," Crowley muttered, with a huff. "But it's not important! No one did anything to me that I didn't agree to let them do!" He cried. 

"Crowley, unless you  _ enthusiastically wanted  _ to have sex with Lucifer in order to conceive the Antichrist and then many times again afterwards, then something  _ did  _ happen to you!" Aziraphale insisted, "and I can't be someone you smash yourself into again and again like a brick wall you're determined to break! You've been hurt, and you can't just ignore that, darling!" 

Crowley voice died. He wanted to fight back more but he couldn't make a sound. Nothing would come out of his mouth. 

"Crowley, lie down, let me get you some tea, you need some rest," Aziraphale said gently, peeling back the covers on the bed. "We can talk about this more after you get some sleep. You're strung out and tired and I can't forgive myself if I hurt you somehow. Don't try to figure out why you feel some way, just listen. What do you want me to do? You don't want me to hold you and I appreciate that, is there something I can do?" 

"Don't want any tea," Crowley said stubbornly, even as he obeyed Aziraphale's soft voice and laid back, clinging to the cream blanket yet again. "Could you just… would you lay here with me?" 

"Of course." 


	23. Chapter 23

Aziraphale was still beside him when he awoke. Absolutely silent, absolutely still, just  _ watching _ him sleep. 

He didn’t move when Crowley eventually began to stir, slowly sat himself up, stretched and wrapped Aziraphale’s woolen blanket around his shoulders. 

He was cold, it was the first thing he noticed, his fingers were almost numb, he shivered a little, bundling in a little tighter to the blanket. 

Finally, Aziraphale moved. He smiled at Crowley, from where he sat on the mattress. “Good morning, my darling,” he said, concern lighting his green eyes, “are you feeling a little better today?”

Crowley opened his mouth to try to insist that  _ of course _ he was, and his voice died in his throat before he could get a word out. His throat squeezed up tight and he felt tears burn his eyes, he closed them tight, ignoring the tears running down his cheeks, and shook his head.

“I’m sorry, Crowley, I shouldn’t have brought it up, my dear boy. It’s alright, you don’t have to be feeling better. Did you want some coffee? Tea? Breakfast? I could take a jaunt downstairs and-”

“Don’t go,” Crowley heard that it was his own voice asking, but he didn’t recognize the pathetic way he spoke. “Don’t leave me alone,” 

He hated the way the words sounded, how  _ desperate _ he sounded, there was no  _ reason _ to be upset and he didn’t  _ want _ to take Aziraphale’s advice and just  _ let _ himself feel this way. He wanted to shrug it off, stand up off the bed and go about his life. 

“If you don’t want me to go, then I won’t,” Aziraphale promised, settling back down on the bed. “I’ll stay right here, as long as you want me to.” 

Crowley was silent for a moment, sitting almost peacefully in the glow of angelic grace and  _ love _ and acceptance radiating from his angel  _ and _ from the blanket.

It would have been peaceful, if it weren’t for the fact that his chest felt like cracked glass, if he moved he would fall to pieces. He  _ had _ to sit still, tears still just barely falling down his cheeks, arms wrapped tightly around himself, or risk falling completely apart. 

And Aziraphale, by some mercy unknown to a demon, had nothing to say about this fact, simply sat with the demon in respectful silence until Crowley’s mind was ready to formulate the words he needed to say.    
“Hold me?” He asked, forced himself to move, to open his arms up even as the glass cracked and fell away because he  _ knew _ he couldn’t hold himself together but maybe Aziraphale  _ could. _

“Crowley, my dear, I would like nothing better than to hold you, but I have to ask you if it’s a good idea, my love. Just last night you were afraid of me, and I can’t live with myself if I hurt you trying to help.”

“I’ve got no reason to be afraid of you,” Crowley said stubbornly, even though he didn’t believe it in the slightest. 

“You’ve been abused by my form for twelve years, Crowley. You have every reason to be afraid of me, you'll never hurt me by admitting it. If you’re sure, I’ll hold you and I won’t let go until the world ends for real if that’s what you want from me, but you must promise me that you’ll tell me if things become too much,” Aziraphale replied. 

Crowley nodded.

“My dear, I have to hear you say it. I insist,” Aziraphale said gently. 

“I’ll tell you. Just-” Crowley’s voice cracked and he broke out into a sob, even as Aziraphale carefully moved forwards and wrapped his arms tightly and securely around the demon. 

Crowley clung to him like a drowning man, fingers dug into Aziraphale’s coat and knuckles going white with how tightly he held on, buried his face in Aziraphale’s shoulder. He squeezed his eyes shut and curled in as close as he could get, twisting in a snake-like manner that put him closer than he should have been able to be, nose buried in the crook of the angel’s neck. 

"Tell me what you think happened, Zira," Crowley said, very, very quietly, after a long moment of clinging tightly to the angel as though the warm arms around him were the only things keeping him out of Lucifer's clutches.

Aziraphale sighed. "I don't want to upset you, love," he said, smoothing a hand along Crowley's bed-mussed hair. "I know what it  _ sounds  _ like to me, but I don't want to upset you. This is something that happened to  _ you,  _ Crowley, it doesn't have to be anything you don't want it to be."

"I don't know what it was," Crowley admitted, "so tell me what you think." 

"I think," Aziraphale began, carefully planning out what he was saying. "To me, my love, it sounds like he raped you. Once for the… material reason of forcing you to have his son, and then again because he  _ liked  _ it. Whether he tricked you with an illusion to distract you with or convince you to stop fighting or not, he's  _ not  _ who you consented to. At the very least he coerced you. And.. Crowley, he's the one who broke your wrist, isn't he?" 

Crowley shook his head vehemently. "He never hurt me. Not that badly, and not if I didn't deserve it," he said quickly. 

"Crowley I know he hurt you, I could  _ see  _ the bruises he left on your neck and around your eye. I'll confess to feeling… jealous, as despicable as that seems now, but I saw the bruises."

"Just a lovebite, Aziraphale," Crowley replied. 

Aziraphale pressed a soft kiss to his temple. Crowley nuzzled in even closer than before, although he did find a more comfortable way for them both to sit in the process. 

"And the one around your eye, my love?"

"Reminder."

"Of what, love?"

"Not to struggle," Crowley said simply, as though it was the easiest thing in the world even though his stomach twisted as the words came out. 

Aziraphale’s expression shifted to something Crowley hadn’t seen in all his six thousand years on Earth, a soft, pitying look that twisted a knife into his guts. “Don’t, Zira,” he pleaded, sniffling and nuzzling back into Aziraphale’s neck. 

“Don’t what, my love?” Aziraphale asked, pulling back ever-so-slightly to make Crowley look him in the eyes. 

Crowley flinched under his gaze and Aziraphale immediately pulled back as close as he had been before. 

“Don’t  _ pity _ me, Aziraphale,” Crowley said quietly, “‘m a demon and I should have expected this when I started taking credit for shit I didn’t do. I should have  _ known _ there would be consequences for lying to establish my reputation, it’s  _ fitting _ that the consequences happened  _ because _ of my record. I got what I deserved, Aziraphale, maybe it hurt, maybe it didn’t but I got what I  _ earned.” _

“You have done  _ nothing _ to deserve this, my dear.  _ Nothing.  _ There is  _ nothing _ you could ever do to deserve this, I swear to you,” Aziraphale breathed, lips brushing against Crowley’s short red hair as he continued his death-grip on the angel’s coat. 

“There  _ is, _ angel! There’s a lot a demon can do to deserve  _ anything, _ we’re _ demons,  _ Aziraphale,” Crowley insisted, “God cast us out and we deserved that, and we deserve everything our new master does, too. We couldn’t listen to the Almighty and for that we earned whatever Lucifer did, you  _ know _ that’s how it works.” 

Aziraphale was silent for a long moment, Crowley  _ knew _ he couldn’t argue with that. Arguing with that would be arguing with the Almighty and Her word, and Aziraphale wouldn’t do that. He would argue with the archangels, but not with the Almighty. 

To an angel, to  _ any _ angel, what the Almighty said was law. It didn’t matter how  _ Crowley _ felt about what the Almighty said, he just had to live with the consequences. He had only ever asked questions and this was the consequence for curiosity. 

Maybe curiosity was a sin. Maybe it was even the real  _ first _ sin. Crowley didn’t know, he only knew it had been his crime and he had to live with that. 

It was the only solid piece of reality there was for him. 

“Crowley, I don’t believe that,” Aziraphale said slowly, startling Crowley out of his spiraling thoughts. 

“Then what do you believe, Aziraphale?” Crowley asked desperately. “What other explanation is there for this?” 

“I don’t know why it happened to you, my dear, I truly don’t, and if I could tell you and it would make you feel better, then I would, but I  _ can’t _ , Crowley. I don’t know why it was you, but it was nothing you earned. I truly don’t believe the Almighty made you a demon so that you would suffer, my love. I don’t think that’s why She made  _ anyone  _ Fall.”

Crowley jerked backwards out of Aziraphale’s grasp. He was cold and shaky the moment he moved backwards, but he couldn’t make himself stay, not after a comment like that. “Not meant to suffer?” He asked, incredulous. “You think that  _ Falling _ wasn’t meant to make anyone  _ suffer?  _ That’s bloody  _ rich, _ coming from an angel who doesn’t know the first thing about Falling!” he shouted, suddenly angry, so incredibly angry and he knew he shouldn’t be so angry with Aziraphale but he  _ was. _ “Do you have any idea what happened to us when we Fell?” He demanded. 

“You were cast out of Heaven and down into He-” 

“We were cast out of Heaven in a million-light-year  _ dive _ into a pool of boiling bloody sulphur! Some of us didn’t make it out of that pool, Aziraphale, and those of us who did…” he trailed off, seething with rage at the ignorance with which Aziraphale spoke. “Those of us who did spent a  _ long _ time wishing we  _ hadn’t.  _ She burned and broke our wings and left us to Fall; She didn’t  _ care _ if we survived or not, so  _ tell me how that shows you that She didn’t want us to suffer.  _ I  _ dare _ you, Aziraphale. Tell me how the Fall was  _ anything but _ a punishment from a vengeful God who couldn’t stand that some of us weren’t interested in blind obedience!” 

The angel was silent. Crowley felt a grim sense of satisfaction for having shut him up, no matter how he hated the fact that the shocked and hurt look on Aziraphale’s face was  _ his _ fault. 

“Don’t you ever try to tell me what my Fall meant, Aziraphale. Any demon knows  _ exactly _ what it was meant to accomplish.”

His hands were shaking. Aziraphale nodded. “Of course, my dear. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. It’s just that… I think She needed us where we were. That’s all I meant, Crowley. I didn’t mean to say She didn’t mean for you to hurt, just… just that She needed us like this. An angel and a demon. The two creatures least likely to work together to stop the apocalypse. She needed  _ us, _ the way we are now.” 

“I don’t care,” Crowley said vehemently, “I don’t care if  _ all _ of this was a part of Her Ineffable Bloody Plan, I don’t have to forgive Her for it. I don’t have to accept  _ any _ of this.” 

“Of course you don’t, Crowley, I shouldn’t have made it sound like you did. I shouldn’t have defended Her, not to- not to you. I’m sorry, Crowley. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you I just- I don’t know what to say, my love, I don’t know how to help!” Aziraphale admitted, Crowley was shocked to see that the angel’s green eyes sparkled with tears. “I don’t know what I can do for you but I was so badly to help you, to help you get through this. I’ll never leave your side but  _ I don’t know what to do, _ Crowley. I can’t even  _ fathom _ what- what the last dec- no, what the last six thousand years have put you through, I really can’t. You’re right, I don’t understand. Heaven was- Heaven was tolerable. I can’t imagine the same can be said about Hell.” 

Crowley sniffled and wiped his eyes. He didn’t move back towards the angel, just huddled more into the blanket he had been given. 

He knew it wasn’t Lucifer before him, he really did. Lucifer would have turned on him by now, used his vulnerability to hurt him. But something else held him back, a few feet away from Aziraphale. 

“It’s not a contest in suffering,” he said suddenly, “neither of us win the prize of being the only one who  _ really _ suffered. I know what those cads were like, Aziraphale, you didn’t fare any better than I did.” 

“None of them sent me into a situation to be tormented and assaulted and laughed in my face when I came out of it, Crowley. I know that’s what Beelzebub did.” 

“How?”

“The trial,” Aziraphale said honestly. Bit his lip. “They laughed about it there, too, with Hastur and Dagon.” 

Crowley wondered what sorts of things Beelzebub would have said about witnessing his bow-legged walk of shame back out of Hell, knew Aziraphale would never tell him. 

It was only fair. Aziraphale would never tell him exactly what Beelzebub had said, and Crowley would never tell Aziraphale what had come out of Gabriel’s smug mouth. 

_ Shut your stupid mouth, and die already. _

Aziraphale sighed. “You have no idea what I would have said, Crowley. What I would have  _ done, _ if I wasn’t supposed to be you.” 

Because Crowley wouldn’t have been brave enough to do  _ anything. _ Crowley would have shut down when Beelzebub started talking, he never would have been able to defend himself. He wasn’t brave enough, he wasn’t bold enough, he had a persona that he fought tooth and nail to hold up but it was all a lie and everyone knew it. 

All bark, no bite. Even Aziraphale knew it. The angel would have been able to say something, to snap back at the Lord of the Flies or fight back  _ somehow, _ but he had known Crowley wouldn’t. 

And Crowley was  _ ashamed _ of that fact. Ashamed of the fact that he had let Beelzebub and Hastur and Dagon and Lucifer walk all over him, but he had learned his lesson so long ago. 

Fighting was pointless. It didn’t matter what happened to him, fighting was pointless. It was easier to lie down and take it, sometimes literally. 

He knew exactly what happened when he didn’t, even if he insisted it had never happened. He had fallen and broken his wrist, that was all. He was too clumsy for his own good, six thousand years in and unaccustomed to a human body, and that was all there was to it. 

Forget that Lucifer had made him  _ name _ the Antichrist, forget that the name he had chosen was  _ actually _ Adam’s name. Forget the cruel twist of fate that led to that, forget everything to do with the night that had never happened. 

He had learned quickly enough. 

Fighting was pointless. 

“Course you couldn’t fight. Not like I could’ve.”

“Dear, I didn’t confront them because I feared I may never come back to you if I did, more than anything. I knew that if I reacted it would be with everything I had and they would have realized I was an angel and destroyed me, and I couldn’t stand the idea that if that happened, they would know about our trick and come for you next. That’s the reason why.” 


	24. Chapter 24

Aziraphale was surprised when he finally convinced Crowley to go to sleep after a long day of quite frankly, some of the hardest things Aziraphale had ever done. 

After Crowley had recoiled due to his insensitive comment about Falling, he hadn’t reapproached, and everything Crowley said or didn’t say made Aziraphale want to gather the demon into his arms and never let him go again, hiding him away from the rest of the world and keeping him safe for the rest of all time. 

He was a soldier, in the end, and it was hard to ignore the urge to blanket Crowley with his own form and never let anything else near him. Never let Lucifer or anyone else lay a hand on the poor demon who had suffered so much during the last twelve years, keep him safe until the day the Earth turned to ash and smoke and everything, including himself and Crowley, faded from existence. 

Then he might feel he had done enough to make up for these past twelve years of ignorance. 

But he could do exactly none of that. Crowley was skittish and wouldn’t even let Aziraphale near him most of the time. 

He didn’t want the angel to leave, no, quite the opposite, he protested anytime Aziraphale suggested something that might take him out of the room for even a second, but he did not want to be touched right now. 

Aziraphale could understand that. He wasn’t convinced he would even want Crowley to stay if he had been put through the same ordeal, if he had been constantly raped by a monster wearing his closest friend’s shape. 

The shape of the person Crowley had confessed to loving, to having loved for the last six thousand years. If it weren’t for the tragedy, Aziraphale would have been elated to know that Crowley had loved him for the last six thousand years, but instead it made his heart hurt to know that Crowley had been abused with the purest thing he’d felt since the Fall. 

It wasn’t loving an angel that made it pure, of course. It was love, wholly and in general. It was a pure feeling, a virtue. 

It shouldn’t have been used to torment Crowley for twelve years. It wasn’t fair that it had been used to torment Crowley for years. 

It was a wonderous thing, a demon loving someone, and it shouldn’t have been used against him. 

And he could do nothing about it. It had already happened, there was nothing he could do but keep Crowley safe now. 

And just the fact that Crowley trusted him to do that was awe-inspiring. The fact that Crowley would close his golden eyes and sleep with Aziraphale sitting, guarding, beside him. 

It didn't change the horror of what had happened, but Aziraphale was glad that his darling demon could rest. 

Aziraphale himself felt dirty and used, but not by Crowley. He knew Crowley expected that he would resent what had happened. Resent how Crowley had unwittingly involved him in this torment and be sickened by the audacity of fantasizing of his image. 

Aziraphale was sickened. But not by Crowley. A demon with carnal desires was hardly a surprise, even Aziraphale, an angel, had carnal desires of his own. 

He was sickened that Lucifer would use both of them like that. That he had been used against Crowley like that, that Crowley had suffered doubly due to his interest in Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale didn't doubt that Lucifer would have raped Crowley with or without the fantasy. 

Had he chosen to use it because he knew it would make Crowley feel responsible? Crowley couldn’t have said no, not to the devil, not to Lucifer the Morningstar, it would have been a death wish. 

So why was an illusion necessary? Why had Lucifer insisted on trying to make him enjoy it? To try to make him agree for a different reason than having to? 

So that he wouldn’t tell anyone? So that he would feel just as dirty and wrong as Lucifer and would hold himself to blame and hold all this hurt to his chest until it burst out and ruined him? 

If so, Lucifer had succeeded. 

Crowley had been asleep for the last forty-six hours and thirteen minutes. Aziraphale couldn’t blame him. He couldn’t more clearly be exhausted, worn out from stress and trauma and pain and for God’s sake, he had stopped time not three days ago. 

He hadn’t even known Crowley had that in his powers. He had never realized just how powerful the serpent was, and he was frankly a little embarrassed to admit it. He knew demons were powerful, of course, but he found it was Crowley he had underestimated. 

Crowley was the Serpent of Eden, and he was creative, but he hadn’t seemed to have brute power. Not that he used very often, at least. 

Crowley had shown a little control over time before, when he had frozen the humans in the Bastille, but this, stopping Satan himself in his tracks, was something else entirely. Humans were easy to influence. 

But Satan? Crowley had stopped Satan in his tracks and managed to help convince Adam, possibly the one human Crowley dreaded encountering then any other, to prevent the apocalypse.

And now he was sound asleep, snoring ever-so-slightly, curled in a way that couldn’t be comfortable for anyone but a snake with far too many vertebrae and limbs that were only moderately bound by human standards. Aziraphale sat about six inches to Crowley’s right, a distance he dared not cross by a single pinkie finger. 

Finally, after forty-seven hours and two minutes, Aziraphale could no longer sit still. He was twitchy, peckish and he needed another book, and most of all, he needed to stretch his legs. He wasn’t the serpent, he couldn’t stay in the same spot for almost two days, not unless he was caught up in an exceptionally good book, and even then, he took breaks to get more cocoa. 

He slowly slid off the bed, Crowley didn’t stir and he took it as a good sign. 

Aziraphale crept into the kitchen, called in for some sushi, he was not going to leave the bookshop. He wasn’t going to do that to Crowley. 

Then he pulled out the cherry pie he had made the other day, placed two large slices in the toaster to warm them back up. He knew Crowley didn’t eat very often, but he wasn’t ready to not make up a plate for the serpent. Crowley was tired and probably could use something to eat. 

While he waited for the pie to reheat and the sushi to arrive, Aziraphale set about making two mugs of cocoa with whipped cream and marshmallows. 

He wasn’t even halfway finished when he heard a noise from the bedroom and, forcing himself to walk at a smooth, slow pace, walked back up the stairs to check on Crowley, mugs of cocoa in hand. “Good evening, darling,” he said softly, walking up to the bed, not missing the fact that Crowley’s eyes widened and he leaned a little further back the closer Aziraphale got. “It’s alright, love, it’s me,” he said gently, placing the cocoa on the dresser and stopping where he stood. 

He wondered how he could prove it, summoned just the tiniest bit of his halo for Crowley to see. “You’ve been asleep for the last two days, love,” he explained, “I ordered in some dinner and was making cocoa and pie for us. I didn’t want to leave you on your own, but needed to stretch my legs and thought that some dinner would be appreciated.” 

Crowley’s tongue flicked nervously out of his mouth, forked and thin, and Aziraphale winced. “Is there something I can do? Something to help?” He asked. 

Crowley didn’t reply. He eventually closed his eyes. “Your pie is burning.” 

Aziraphale didn’t smell the burn until a few moments later, and he simply snapped his fingers and ignored it. 

“I’m sorry for leaving, my darling, I know you asked me to stay, I didn’t expect you to wake up while I was gone.” 

“So it was okay if I didn’t know it happened,” Crowley said quietly, wrapping the cream woolen blanket tightly around his shoulders. 

Aziraphale regretted the way he had said it the moment it had left his mouth. “No dear, that’s not what I meant,” he replied, carefully taking the cocoa back off the dresser and walking over to the bed, holding out the mug of cocoa for Crowley to take. “I’m sorry I left, Crowley.” 

“‘S alright,” Crowley said quietly, he took the mug but didn’t drink from it. “‘M used to wakin’ up alone,” he admitted. 

“I didn’t mean to leave you, love. I should have woken you before I left, told you what I was doing.” 

Behind them, the doorbell rang. 

“Dinner’s here,” Crowley said, rather unhelpfully, although Aziraphale didn’t say anything about it, tongue flicking again, “the place that always uses fresh tuna on your sushi.” 

Aziraphale smiled. “I should go and get it, do you mind if I do?” He asked, watching Crowley’s face carefully for his reaction. 

“You’d better, or they’ll use the regular stock of fish for you next time,” Crowley replied, not really showing an indication that he cared either way. 

Aziraphale bit his lip. “Why don’t you come with me, Crowley? It might do you good to get out of bed, we could eat in the back of the bookshop with a bit of wine, if you want,” he offered. 

Crowley just stared at him. 

Aziraphale forced himself not to sigh and walked back to the door to pay the delivery person and get the pie out of the toaster. 

When he went to go back to the bedroom, however, he spotted the demon curled up in his regular spot on the coach, still wrapped up in the plush cream wool, with the cocoa in his hands. 

"Hello Aziraphale," he said softly, when the angel walked into the room. 

"Hello, Crowley," Aziraphale said with a smile. "I got your favourites, the snake roll and a firecracker," he offered, placing the boxes of take-out on the small table between their typical seats. "And there's more cherry pie in the fridge if you want."

"I'm not really that hungry, Aziraphale," Crowley confessed, almost seeming ashamed of that fact. 

"Of course, dear. Your rolls will keep, do you mind if I eat?" Aziraphale asked, waving his hand and sending the selection he had picked for Crowley to the fridge. 

"Course not, angel," Crowley replied. 

The serpent picked at his slightly-burned slice of pie while Aziraphale ate his sushi, finding himself unable to savour it in quite the same way. 

Part of him was constantly checking in on Crowley, making sure he was doing alright and that nothing had changed since he'd looked down to eat. 

"You mentioned wine, angel?" Crowley asked after a while, and Aziraphale found he couldn't deny the demon. He went and fetched two wine glasses and a couple of bottles of wine, placed them on the coffee table. 

Crowley drank a little more heavily than normal, but Aziraphale didn't complain. His friend had earned a drink.

He'd been through so much, he'd rather a night to shut it all off and dull it out with alcohol. Aziraphale couldn't say he wouldn't do the same thing if he were Crowley.

"Crowley?" Aziraphale asked after a while, looking up from his wine glass. 

Crowley's hands were shaking as he poured himself another glass of the sweet red wine, Aziraphale slowly took the bottle from him and poured it himself. "Here," he said gently, handing the glass back. 

Crowley took it gratefully and took a great swig before lowering it from his lips.

"Crowley, may I ask you a question?" Aziraphale asked, biting his lip. 

"Ask away, 'ngel," Crowley invited.

"When you asked me to stay away for seven months… you were pregnant, then, weren't you?" Aziraphale asked, furrowing his brow, "that's why you were so specific about the amount of time you needed. You didn't want me to come and find you before the Antichrist had been born."

Crowley took another large sip of his wine before answering. "Yes." 

Aziraphale hesitated before he asked his next question. "Why didn't you just tell me, darling? I would have done everything I could to help, it was part of the Arrangement and I would have wanted to anyways. Even then, still scared of Heaven, I wouldn't have wanted you to suffer by yourself. I would have taken care of you." 

Suddenly, Crowley was hissing a response. "Would you?" 

Aziraphale blinked. "Of course, dear-"

"I was two and a half months pregnant with my life and freedom on the line and you pushed me down the stairs, Aziraphale," Crowley said, slamming his wine glass down and almost breaking the stem. "How was I supposed to trust you to look after me- us- Adam and I if you pushed me down the stairs! And I didn't know what lengths you would to to in order to stop Armageddon and you have no idea what was in store if something had happened to Adam, Aziraphale. I didn't tell you because in order to stay even remotely safe I had to keep the Antichrist safe."

Aziraphale's stomach sank as he remembered the incident. He had never meant to push so hard, Crowley had been off-balanced already and he had just needed him to back off. 

Badly enough that he was right. Aziraphale had shoved him down the half flight of stairs and watched as Crowley fled the bookshop afterwards. 

"Why didn't you let me heal you from that, Crowley?" Aziraphale asked. 

"Thought you would notice something… off if I let you." 

Crowley lifted the bottle to refill his glass, noticed it was mostly empty and lifted it to his lips to drain directly. 

Then he popped the cork out of the next and filled his glass.

"You must have been terrified…" Aziraphale breathed, shuddering at the thought of going through what Crowley had been subjected to. 

"It was and I couldn't trust anyone. When I did it never did me any g-" 

Crowley cut himself off. Aziraphale couldn't help but press. "What happened, love?"

"I was seeing a doctor. She got the police involved when I showed up with the broken wrist," Crowley said bitterly, "spent the whole second trimester pretending to be my friend and sold me down the river to the bloody coppers the moment she smelled trouble." 

"Crowley, why did Lucifer break your wrist?" Aziraphale asked. 

"He didn't." 

Aziraphale sighed. "Darling, I know he did. He's the only reason you wouldn't have healed it." 

"Couldn't use miracles while I was pregnant. Had to leave it."

"Crowley, what happened for him to overreact and break your wrist?" 

Crowley shook his head, threw back most of his wine like he was drinking shots. "I don't know what you're talking about, Aziraphale. I slipped and fell, that's all I know. Lucifer never broke my wrist."

Yet again, Aziraphale didn't believe him. 


	25. Chapter 25

Aziraphale had not expected to see the young owner of  _ The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch _ again. She had gotten her book back, and Aziraphale had assumed that was the last he would see of her. 

He didn’t expect her to appear at his doorstep, he didn’t even know she knew where to find him. 

Perhaps she just wanted to browse. “I’m afraid we’re most definitely closed, miss. I don’t see up opening for the foreseeable future,” he reported. 

“Your friend. The demon with the red hair. He’s the Serpent in the prophecy, isn’t he?” She didn’t even bother to introduce herself, and Aziraphale didn’t remember getting her name the first time he had met her, either. 

“I’m sorry?” 

“Eden’s Beast. The Serpent. The snake of garden oolde. That’s your friend, isn’t it?” The woman asked, brandishing the green-bound book. “There’s one prophecy that hasn’t been fulfilled yet, and it talks about the Great Serpent. We were all confused, it’s rather… friendly for Anges’ take on the devil, who is  _ supposed _ to be the serpent, but it’s your friend, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Crowley  _ is _ the Serpent of Eden, we were both there, actually, but I don’t see how any of this is relevant-” 

A page of Agnes’ book was shoved into Aziraphale’s face. It took him a moment to focus and read the words. 

_ In plase of oother man’s books, there, Anathema, yee wil finde snake of garden oolde. Spake to him as you wulde a freend. _

“Well, first of all, Crowley isn’t a him today,” Aziraphale began, “and I’m not really sure she’s in a state for visitors. She’s been through a lot of late. Second, she prefers Serpent, not snake. And I really don’t think-”

“Angel, you can’t keep me penned up by myself in the bookshop for the rest of the duration of the world. We saved it for a reason, not just to hole up in here for the rest of eternity. If we wanted to hole up with just each other, we could have gone to Alpha Centauri like I suggested. Proxima B is lovely this time of year.” 

Aziraphale turned around to see Crowley standing in the doorway, in a long, black, plush nightgown that had  _ not _ been in Aziraphale’s bookshop the other day. 

Her hair was freshly styled, still short, she  _ had _ just cut it, after all, she appeared to have done her makeup while Aziraphale was making breakfast. “You. Book girl. Why are you looking for the Serpent of Eden?” She asked. 

“There’s a prophecy about you. Well… about me coming to talk to you.” 

“Why?” Crowley asked, frowning. 

The woman faltered. “I… don’t actually know. It just said to come and talk with the serpent. For a long time, my family chose not to pay much mind to that prophecy, thought it referred to Lucifer.”

Crowley bristled. “ _ I’m  _ not Lucifer,” she hissed. 

“Crowley, biblically the Serpent is identified as the devil, dear,” Aziraphale said patiently, taking a few steps towards the demon, who glared at him. 

“I  _ know. _ I told you that would happen, angel, and you didn’t believe me. I told you when the humans wrote it down they were going to credit the bloody devil for my work. Can’t have been a lowly demon they sent to Earth because they didn’t want to put up with her in Hell.”

The young lady cleared her throat. “Either way, I figured out at the airbase that we might have been mistaken, given that you’re… very serpentine.” The woman remarked, motioning to Crowley’s face. “And the angel mentioned that you were a snake-”

“Serpent.”

“Serpent in the garden.” 

“I still don’t think that this is a good idea, Crowley,” Aziraphale protested, giving the serpent a nervous look. 

“Aziraphale, love, would you mind coming over here for a moment?” Crowley asked, biting her red-painted lip. 

The angel agreed immediately. “Please wait here, Miss-”

“Device. Anathema Device,” the young lady replied. 

“Miss Device,” Aziraphale finished, and stepped over to Crowley. “Yes, my love?” 

“I- I could really use-” Crowley cut herself off, looking down at the ground, chewing on her bottom lip nervously.

“Crowley, you know you can tell me anything you need to. Anything at all.” 

Aziraphale reached for Crowley’s hand, but Crowley held it back, and he stopped questing. “Is there something you need me to do?” 

“Would you go to that French bakery you like so much?” Crowley asked, golden eyes wide and a little frightened. “Bring me back some of those lemon tarts?” 

Her voice was unimaginably quiet, hesitant, as though she expected Aziraphale might somehow refuse her. 

Sure, he was  _ curious _ as to why she wanted lemon tarts, she didn’t normally care much for pastries, but he would get her anything she wanted. 

“Of course, darling. I’ll be back in-”

“Take your time, Aziraphale,” Crowley said, sounding reluctant to put it to voice. “I need- I-” 

Aziraphale tried to decipher what Crowley might have been trying to tell him. Why would Crowley want to be left alone with a stranger? 

He tried to read something from Crowley’s expression, but she avoided his direct gaze. “Crowley, love, I’ll go with no further explanation, I will, but you must know you can tell me anything you need to,” Aziraphale said gently, “you don’t need to try to protect me from what you need.” 

“I need to be away from you for a moment,” Crowley said finally, and Aziraphale didn’t miss the tear that slipped down her cheek when she said it. “I’m  _ sorry, _ Aziraphale, but you’ve been with me since Armageddon and the longer you’re with me the harder it gets to convince myself that it’s  _ always _ you and-” 

Aziraphale took a step backwards to offer Crowley some space. “You never need to apologize to me, my love,” he promised, “I’ve been so worried about looking after you, I hadn’t even considered what it might seem like to you. I’ll bring my phone, you promise to call me if you want me to come back? Otherwise, I’ll return after dinner, alright? And if that’s not long enough, please tell me that, too. I’m loathe to leave you by yourself but I’ll stay away as long as you need me to.” 

Crowley was stiff and jerky and shaking ever-so-slightly when she reached out and gave Aziraphale the smallest, shortest of hugs, which was clearly all she could force herself to offer. 

Aziraphale made no attempt to draw out their embrace for any longer than Crowley was comfortable with. “Thank you, angel,” she murmured. 

“Of course, my love. Anything you need. Anything at all," Aziraphale said quietly, "I'll see you tonight, unless you call." 

Crowley nodded. 

Aziraphale picked his coat off the hook by the door, slung it over his shoulders. 

He turned back to Anathema. "Take good care of her," he said, not loudly enough for Crowley to hear. "She's been through a lot." 

"I'm here to help," Anathema promised, and Aziraphale reluctantly stepped out of the bookshop. 

He didn't want to leave. He wanted to stay as close to Crowley as she could stand, he wanted to  _ protect  _ her, more than anything else in the world. 

But she needed him to leave, and he respected her enough to listen to what she needed. She needed her space and Aziraphale had to give her that. 

He didn't go directly to the French bakery. Although he had never gotten any breakfast and he was quite peckish, but as much as he put up no fuss over being asked to leave, he needed a moment to walk and clear his head. 

He knew there was no personal reason why Crowley wanted him to leave. She had been hurt by someone who had pretended to be Aziraphale, it was truly that simple. She needed time away from any reminder of that, anyone that seemed like they might be a threat to her sense of security, more than she needed air to breathe. 

It didn't mean Aziraphale didn't have personal feelings about leaving her alone with a practical stranger. He felt better like this than he would if he left her completely by herself, but he didn't have to like leaving Crowley with the witch from the airbase and being forced to stay away. 

He  _ loved  _ the demon, more than anything else in all of creation, and it meant he would respect what she wanted, but it also meant he felt responsible to protect her at all times. She was his  _ family,  _ had been for a long time, he had to keep her safe. It was his duty, his responsibility, he was a  _ guardian  _ and he wasn't guarding the most precious part of his world.

And she didn’t want him to. Didn’t need him to,  _ needed _ him to not. He tried to tell himself that he  _ was _ guarding her by not being there, but it was hard to believe he could be keeping her safe when he was wandering in Saint James’ Park and she was back in the bookshop with a stranger. 

He knew it was how it ought to be, as he tossed corn pellets to the ducks and tried not to think about the  _ last _ time he had come to Saint James’ Park, mind still reeling with what Hastur and Beelzebub and Dagon had confirmed, trying to force himself to pretend he didn’t know and treat Crowley the same way he always did when the realization that he had been completely oblivious to his best friend’s extensive suffering for the last twelve years. 

Could he really claim to have been completely oblivious? He had known something was wrong since Crowley had crashed her car into a lightpost, he just had pushed her away instead of showing that he would keep her safe, if she let him. 

But there was nothing he could do about that now, and he had to follow Crowley’s wishes, more importantly than anything else. It always came back to that, no matter how he felt about it. His feelings weren’t important, not in the grand scheme of things. 

Not when they were compared to Crowley’s, the one who had been through so much in the last decade. To Aziraphale, his demon’s feelings were paramount to anything else. 

Aziraphale took a seat beside the duck pond, stripped off his shoes, socks and sock garters and rolled up the cuffs of his slacks, placed his feet in the cold water. 

It made his toes tingle within a few minutes, but he didn’t pull them out. The cold water was awakening, sharpened his senses and brought some focus to the world, allowed him to think about something else, kept his mind from his guilt over not helping Crowley for all those years. 

His toes went numb, he remained in place, tossing corn pellets to the ducks that swam around him. 

He could no longer feel his feet when he pulled them from the water, miracled them dry and pulled his socks and shoes back on. He had to get going to the bakery, he was starved and while he thought that he would like to spend his time closer to the bookshop. 

He wanted to be nearby if Crowley changed her mind, and the bakery was a good ways away. 

Not to mention, they made all their pastries first thing in the morning, and the lemon tarts that Crowley loved would be sold out if he arrived too late. 

So he got back to his feet as soon as he could feel them again and made for the French bakery, one of the only bakeries Crowley had ever shown an interest in during the twenty-first century. 

The serpent had been very put out when her favourite  _ patisserie _ had gone out of business in the middle of the twentieth century. She had truly loved their  _ canneles _ , and Aziraphale had a soft spot from french pastries and didn’t object to visiting. 

Crowley had never found another place with  _ canneles _ that she loved as much, but she did have a sincere appreciation for the lemon tarts they had found in a French Bakery that had popped up a few decades later. 

So Aziraphale made his way there quickly. He ordered a croque-monsieur and a cocoa for himself, and he purchased a half-dozen lemon tarts to bring home to Crowley. It was an excess and he was fairly convinced that Crowley wasn’t going to eat them all before they went stale, but he felt better about having left the bookshop with a box full of pastries. He had followed Crowley’s request, now he just needed to remain occupied until Crowley was prepared to see him again. 

His phone never went off, so Aziraphale made plans to  _ also _ bring dinner home with him. Crowley didn’t ever eat much, it was part of being a snake, but Aziraphale knew first-hand what comfort food could do for an entity. 

So he went out and got some takeout, choosing a rich pasta in a thick, creamy sauce, loaded with fresh seafood. 

Then he returned to the bookshop, but he didn’t enter. 

Not at first. 

He gave Crowley a call, first. He wanted to make sure that she wanted him to come back. If she didn’t, he would leave the pasta and pastries at the door for her and set back out into the evening air. 

Crowley didn’t leave her phone ringing for very long, after the first three rings she lifted the phone. “Zira?” 

“Crowley, my dear, I’ve brought the pastries you asked for, and some dinner, but I was wondering if you wanted me to come back in just yet. If you need a little more time, I quite understand, dear girl.” 

Crowley was quiet for a moment, and Aziraphale preemptively laid the two boxes on the ground outside the bookshop and made to leave. 

“Come back, Aziraphale,” Crowley said quietly, an answer that startled Aziraphale. “I miss you.” 

“Are you sure, love?” Aziraphale asked. 

“Please,” Crowley confirmed, and Aziraphale picked up the boxes and stepped into the bookshop. 

Crowley was still in the same dressing gown she had been wearing when he left, curled up on the couch wrapped up in a black blanket. She had fuzzy black slippers on, and there were two wine glasses and a couple of bottles on the table. 

Aziraphale walked over to her, cleared a bit of room on the table and placed the pasta and pastries there. “I missed you too, my love. Did you have a nice day with Anathema?” He asked. 

Crowley shrugged and Aziraphale didn’t press. He let her go and grab plates and dish herself a bit of the seafood alfredo pasta, nibble at that before moving on to a lemon tart. 

She did seem a little calmer now. Her day without Aziraphale hanging over her must have done her good. She was obviously a little tipsy, but she seemed no worse for wear and Aziraphale made a note to thank Anathema for looking after the demon. 

Crowley was alright, and Aziraphale could go back to looking after the most precious part of his life. 


	26. Chapter 26

Crowley was not having a good morning. She had realized it first thing in the morning when she woke up, guts twisted in knots and feeling like she might throw up. 

Of course, she didn’t think her distinctly nightmarish dreams had helped. It wasn’t her fault she couldn’t control her subconscious, couldn’t make it leave the feeling of Lucifer forcing her legs apart and pushing himself upon her from her dreams. It was a memory, that was all, it would fade with time and it wasn’t her fault they still came back, although she continued to tell herself that there was something she should have been doing. 

Her fingers had been tightly entwined with Aziraphale’s, but she had quickly untangled them. She knew that Adam had  _ told _ her all was well, but the sight of the angel lying beside her had been making her skin crawl for days now and it was worse today. 

She couldn’t explain  _ why _ it was worse, and couldn’t fathom how to  _ tell _ anyone it was worse, it just was. She just needed her space, and hopefully Aziraphale wouldn’t notice. Before the angel awoke she stored herself away in the bathroom, under the pretense of getting ready, but she really  _ needed _ the door between herself and Aziraphale. 

She took a shower so hot it seared her skin a bright red. The hot water felt good, pounding viciously into her back and she  _ hoped _ taking out some of the tension. She needed some stress relief if she was going to get through today, she needed to relax as much as possible or she feared she would blow up at the angel, or lose her cool in another panic attack, and she couldn’t do that to Aziraphale. He was trying to help and she had to keep her composure and let him feel like he was. 

If she couldn’t even manage that, she truly wasn’t even worth the effort. She had to make the angel feel better even if he wasn’t helping her, because it was her fault he was so miserable. She had lost her composure, she had broken down and told him everything, or, almost everything, and she was the reason he knew just how bad it had been. She could have pretended nothing was wrong and even though he knew from Beelzebub, Hastur and Dagon that Adam was her son, he wouldn’t have known just how miserable she had been made by that fact. 

He would think she was fine. Since it was her own fault he was worried about her, she needed to make him stop. There was no point in still fretting over her.

She stepped out of the shower and slung on a soft black bathrobe, dried her face and hair and set about doing her makeup. 

Despite everything, it was something she still  _ liked _ doing. She still did like to sit before the mirror, perched up on the bathroom counter, fuss over lip rouge and mascara and trying not to stab herself in the eye with her eyeliner pencil while she traced lines sharp enough to cut glass. 

She didn’t plan on going anywhere, didn’t plan on needing to have done herself up as dramatically as she did, she just liked to sometimes. She liked the glittery platinum eyeshadow she played around with, the way her dark lashes framed her eyes and while she didn’t often like to draw attention to them, the way the dark makeup made her yellow irises stand out. 

When she finally stepped out of the bathroom with her hair freshly styled and makeup done, she felt a little calmer. 

Aziraphale was talking to someone at the door. 

“Eden’s Beast. The Serpent. The snake of garden oolde. That’s your friend, isn’t it?” A woman Crowley recognized from the airbase asked from where she stood in the doorway of the bookshop. “There’s one prophecy that hasn’t been fulfilled yet, and it talks about the Great Serpent. We were all confused, it’s rather… friendly for Anges’ take on the devil, who is  _ supposed _ to be the serpent, but it’s your friend, isn’t it?” She asked.

“Yes, Crowley  _ is _ the Serpent of Eden, we were both there, actually, but I don’t see how any of this is relevant-” 

The woman shoved a page of her book into Aziraphale’s face. Crowley was at quite a disadvantaged distance for making out what it said, not that reading was ever a strong suit of hers. Her eyes were not made for the written word. 

“Well, first of all, Crowley isn’t a him today,” Aziraphale began, “and I’m not really sure she’s in a state for visitors. She’s been through a lot of late. Second, she prefers Serpent, not snake. And I really don’t think-”

A  _ visitor. _ Someone to talk to, someone that wasn’t Aziraphale, that didn’t make her believe that she might be in danger every second of her interactions with them. 

Crowley realized all of the sudden that she didn’t  _ care _ if this was a stranger. She needed a chance to be around someone who wasn’t her angel. Who wasn’t the focal point of her suffering. 

“Angel, you can’t keep me penned up by myself in the bookshop for the rest of the duration of the world. We saved it for a reason, not just to hole up in here for the rest of eternity. If we wanted to hole up with just each other, we could have gone to Alpha Centauri like I suggested. Proxima B is lovely this time of year.” 

Aziraphale whirled around to see her. Crowley didn’t give him the chance to speak, she addressed the woman in the doorway. “You. Book girl. Why are you looking for the Serpent of Eden?” She asked. 

“There’s a prophecy about you. Well… about me coming to talk to you.” 

“Why?” Crowley asked, frowning. 

The woman faltered. “I… don’t actually know. It just said to come and talk with the serpent. For a long time, my family chose not to pay much mind to that prophecy, thought it referred to Lucifer.”

Crowley bristled. “ _ I’m  _ not Lucifer,” she hissed. 

“Crowley, biblically the Serpent is identified as the devil, dear.”

Aziraphale’s voice was almost too patronizing, it made Crowley want to lash out at the angel, but she knew she shouldn’t.

“I  _ know. _ I told you that would happen, angel, and you didn’t believe me. I told you when the humans wrote it down they were going to credit the bloody devil for my work. Can’t have been a lowly demon they sent to Earth because they didn’t want to put up with her in Hell.”

The young lady cleared her throat. “Either way, I figured out at the airbase that we might have been mistaken, given that you’re… very serpentine.” The woman remarked, motioning to Crowley’s face. “And the angel mentioned that you were a snake-”

“Serpent.”

“Serpent in the garden.” 

“I still don’t think that this is a good idea, Crowley,” Aziraphale protested, giving the serpent a nervous look. 

“Aziraphale, love, would you mind coming over here for a moment?” Crowley asked, biting her red-painted lip. 

The angel agreed immediately. “Please wait here, Miss-”

“Device. Anathema Device,” the young lady replied. 

“Miss Device,” Aziraphale finished, and stepped over to Crowley. “Yes, my love?” 

“I- I could really use-” Crowley cut herself off, looking down at the ground, chewing on her bottom lip nervously.

“Crowley, you know you can tell me anything you need to. Anything at all.” 

“Is there something you need me to do?” 

“Would you go to that French bakery you like so much?” Crowley asked, “Bring me back some of those lemon tarts?” 

Aziraphale tried to promise to be home soon, and Crowley finally managed to convey what she wanted to say. That she needed time without Aziraphale, a chance to catch her breath in all this mess and try to make sense of her world as it had become without the object of both her strongest affections and fears looming over her. 

He didn’t complain. He agreed to leave more easily than Crowley could have ever imagined, and she breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped out the door and the woman, Anathema Device, walked into the bookshop.

“Should I let you get dressed?” Anathema asked, motioning to Crowley’s dressing gown. Crowley shook her head. 

“No point,” Crowley decided, walking over to the sitting area she had bullied Aziraphale into installing when he had opened the shop. “I’m not embarrassed, am I making you uncomfortable?”

Crowley did spare a glance down at herself, her chest was  _ mostly _ covered, and it wasn’t like she boasted much there in any of her varied appearances. 

All around, she thought she was rather decent. 

“No, of course not.” 

Crowley flopped down onto her normal spot on the couch and immediately found that she had no idea what she was supposed to say. Anathema Device didn’t know anything about what had happened to her. She really didn’t know what was going on,  _ why _ she needed to be here. 

“What did you prophecy say about me, Anathema?” She asked, frowning. “Can I call you Anathema?”

“Please do. You go by Crowley?” 

Crowley’s mouth twisted into a smile. “Call me AJ,” she decided, after a moment’s pause. “I do go by Crowley, but m’name’s Anthony J Crowley, so-”

“So AJ. A demon named AJ,” Anathema said with a smile. “Now, you want to know what the prophecy says.” 

The young woman didn’t open her book again, she recited the lines from memory.  _ “In plase of oother man’s books, there, Anathema, yee wil finde snake of garden oolde. Spake to him as you wulde a freend.” _

Crowley thought about that. “So you’re only here because Agnes Nutter told you to come,” she summarized. 

Anathema sighed. “I like to think of it as I wouldn’t have known to come here if it weren’t for Agnes, but I  _ chose _ to come here. I’m not following prophecies anymore. She tried to send me a second volume, I burned it with my boyfriend from the airbase,” she replied. 

Crowley smiled. “Don’t tell Aziraphale that. He’s been trying to get a copy of  _ The Nice and Accurate Prophecies _ for centuries now, he’ll be devasted to learn that the second volume was destroyed. Now he can’t have either.” 

Anathema smirked. “Duly noted. Anyways, my point is, in a way, I’m only here because Agnes told me I should be, but I like to think I had the final say in whether I was going to come here or not. I  _ wasn’t _ going to go and find the snake-”

“Serpent,” Crowley corrected immediately. 

“Serpent if it really was the Devil. Are you actually a serpent?” Anathema asked, tipping her head to the side. 

Crowley gave her a funny look. “No, I just wear coloured contacts all the time because I like itchy eyes,” she replied, “yes, I’m a serpent, but I don’t take that form very often.” 

Anathema nodded. “I see. So, is there a reason you were so quick to get your angel friend out of here, AJ? He seems concerned about you.” 

Crowley bit her lip. She didn’t know if she wanted to spill yet, but Anathema did need a bit of an explanation for why she had been sent to the bookshop by a prophecy written hundreds of years ago. 

For the first time since it had happened, Crowley thought she might just be honest. “How much do you know about what happened at the airbase?” She asked. 

“You mean that we stopped Armageddon? The little boy there, Adam, was the Antichrist and the children defeated the Horsemen of the Apocalypse? And you and the angel did explain Lucifer’s visit.” 

“So you know all of it,” Crowley summarized. 

“I suppose I do.” 

“Adam isn’t just Lucifer’s son. He needed a mother, too, and who better than the Serpent of Eden, origin of the original sin. At least, that’s what he told me.” 

Anathema was silent for long enough that Crowley thought she might have scared the woman off. It was too much to contemplate, she knew it was a lot. 

“He forced you?” Anathema asked quietly, and Crowley nodded, ducking her head into her knees. 

Anathema was quiet again, and Crowley tried to choke down the tears that welled up in her eyes. She had already been through this with Aziraphale, it was nothing worth crying over again. She reached up and carefully dabbed at one of her eyes, trying not to smudge her eyeliner. 

“I see why Agnes sent me to see you. The angel… he knows?”

“He doesn’t understand it, though,” Crowley murmured. 

“He wouldn’t,” Anathema said darkly. She sighed. “I don’t really get it, either, but I have a friend who got pregnant in high school and couldn’t get an abortion where we lived. She was miserable. I can’t imagine what it would be like to be in your situation-”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Crowley said suddenly, lifting her head. “I really don’t want to talk about it. Come here, Aziraphale was making some breakfast, I’d better go get it out of the kitchen, and we can talk about anything but this.” 

“Of course,” Anathema agreed, and followed Crowley into the kitchen, where he shut off the stove and pulled out the waffles that Aziraphale had been making. 

“Did you want any?” Crowley offered, “Aziraphale is an excellent cook, and he won’t mind if we eat them.” 

“No, thank you, I ate breakfast before I came here, but you go ahead.” 

Crowley decided to listen to what she said, and made himself a plate of waffles with syrup and chocolate sauce. “The prophecy says  _ spake to her as you wulde a freend _ . Why don’t you just sit down and we can talk gossip or something, like friends would. I don’t need you to talk me through the last twelve years of my life, and I really don’t want to talk about it again.” 

Anathema nodded. “Alright, well, would you like to know what Newt did the other day?” 

Crowley cackled and settled in with her waffles. “Absolutely.”

Newt had done a lot the other day, including explaining why he called his car Dick Turpin, which Anathema had instantly regretted asking about. Crowley, on the other hand, thought it was absolutely hilarious. She resolved that it weren’t for the fact that she’d had the Bentley forever, she would give it a name like that, and figured that if, Someone forgive, she ever had to get a new car, it would be getting a similarly bad name. 

Anathema had to leave after lunch, but Crowley didn’t mind the alone time. She settled down with a bottle of wine (leaving an extra glass out to make it look like she’d shared a glass with Anathema), and watched  _ Golden Girls _ in syndication. 

She really did need the day to herself. When Aziraphale called to ask if she was ready for him to come home, she was feeling much calmer. 

She enjoyed dinner with Aziraphale, and found that she felt, surprisingly, much better when she fell asleep again that night.

It didn’t stop her nightmares from coming back, but it made it a little easier to wake up and squeeze Aziraphale’s hand in the morning. 


	27. Chapter 27

“Crowley, my love,” Aziraphale said quietly, sitting down on the edge of the bed and placing a tray down beside Crowley. “How are you feeling this morning? Are you still up to our plans? It’s perfectly alright if you’re not, of course, we can simply have a picnic in the bookshop instead.” 

Crowley only barely remembered the plans they had made the night before. It had been made  _ before _ the bottle of wine was opened and anyone had imbibed, Aziraphale’s way of making sure their decision wasn’t altered by anything, but afterwards they’d had more than a couple of glasses and everything had gotten hazy, like a mirror someone had breathed onto. 

The fog had been pleasant, it always was. Some things were easier with a haze present. Crowley did remember spending a good portion of the night curled up in their angel’s arms, Aziraphale gently smoothing their hair, and they couldn’t be exactly certain they would have been able to do that without the wine helping. 

In truth, Crowley  _ liked _ being in such close contact with Aziraphale. Some days it was harder to enjoy it than others, some days they had to outright refuse but they  _ liked _ the warmth inside their chest and the way it felt like they could breathe a little more deeply with Aziraphale’s strong arms wrapped around them. They felt warm and safe in the angel’s embrace, and as long as their own thoughts and memories didn’t betray them, they  _ believed _ Aziraphale could keep them protected like that. 

So long as they didn’t dwell too hard on  _ who _ they needed protecting from. Provided Aziraphale didn’t move wrong, or his fingers didn’t brush a little too far down their back.

Crowley sat up and moved the tray to the side, leaning over in the bed to pull their arms around the angel. Aziraphale didn’t try to question their actions, just held them tightly. 

He had given up questioning when Crowley initiated, trusted Crowley to tell him if something was too much, which was perhaps  _ too much _ trust in Crowley, but they were glad for it. 

They liked that they  _ both _ could sit and enjoy each other’s embrace, that Aziraphale didn’t feel the need to fret over their every shift in posture. 

They didn’t want to think about what might happen to that trust if they ever asked for something they couldn’t handle. 

“As happy as I am to hold you for as long as you would like-”

“What happens if that’s not as long as you want to? When do things stop being about  _ me?” _ Crowley asked. 

Aziraphale sighed. “My love, I would happily hold you in my arms until the world ended for real, and we would never have a chance to do anything else. And you needn’t think that things are all about you, if you’re uncomfortable with it. My enjoyment of these things  _ relies _ on yours, Crowley. If you are uncomfortable or upset, then it’s upsetting for me, too. I don’t want to put any pressure on you.” 

He had to be so damned reasonable, didn’t he? To have such a perfect answer for Crowley’s question. It was sort of irritating, but Crowley didn’t say anything about it. “Do you remember what our plan was, Crowley, my dear?” 

“Vaguely,” Crowley confirmed, yawned, “refresh my memory?”

Aziraphale was probably smiling, although Crowley couldn’t see his face from where he sat, arms tightly around the angel’s round middle. “Well, my darling Crowley, it does seem that we’ve spent a long time in the bookshop since the apocalypse that didn’t happen. I was wondering if you would accompany me on a picnic to Saint James’ Park.” 

Crowley didn’t know why that would be a big deal. It wasn’t like they were afraid to be in  _ public. _ They were upset over what Lucifer had asked of them and they had given, that was all. “Course, angel. Sounds great.” 

They clung to Aziraphale for a few more seconds, then let go. 

Aziraphale moved backwards, Crowley shook their head. “Kiss me?” They asked, even as their heart fluttered, half excited and half nervous at the idea. 

They hadn’t tried to push beyond a hug since the night they’d ended up on their back under Aziraphale and sobbing, but not having tried didn’t mean they weren’t interested in such an event happening again, even if it made them nervous. 

They  _ liked _ being held, they  _ liked _ being kissed.

Lucifer wouldn’t make them give that up. Not something they liked. 

“Crowley, are you sure that’s a good idea?” Aziraphale asked, apparently his trust in Crowley to be a good judge of themself only went so far. 

“Don’t you want to?” Crowley asked, avoiding the question, staring up into Aziraphale’s brilliant green eyes. 

“Of course I do, my love, but the last time we kissed, you had a panic attack. I’d rather not repeat the performance.” 

He had a point, even if it was a point Crowley didn’t want to address. It was easier for them to pretend it had no reason to be a problem and deal with the consequences if it  _ was _ later. 

“I don’t know,” Crowley admitted, voice soft but clearly frustrated. 

Aziraphale didn’t miss the annoyance in their voice. He must have known how badly Crowley  _ wanted _ to be okay with this. 

“Swear to me you’ll stop if it’s too much, Crowley,” the angel said, a little reluctant to push at Crowley’s boundaries. “It’s your decision, in the end. I can’t tell you if it’s a good idea or not, and if you want to try again I won’t stand in the way, but promise me you’ll say something if it’s too much. I  _ won’t  _ allow myself to hurt you. So promise me you won’t try to ignore your discomfort again, my love.” 

“I won’t,” Crowley promised, and they really did mean it this time. They didn’t want to disappoint Aziraphale and get hurt in the process. 

The angel nodded, and slowly leaned towards Crowley, watching their every reaction for a sign of something being wrong. 

Crowley closed their eyes, which made Aziraphale pause but they pulled the angel towards themself and gently, carefully, almost  _ curiously _ pressed their lips to his. 

Aziraphale did not taste like wine this time. Their insides didn’t twist up this time, and they didn’t push any further forward, just savoured the taste of fresh rain and rich cocoa. 

They didn’t feel the urge to distract themself this time, didn’t feel as though they had to hide behind a flavour on their tongue and pretend this wasn’t happening. They didn’t have to force themself to be okay with this, they actually  _ were _ okay, and it was elating just to realize. 

Aziraphale pulled away after a minute or two, studying Crowley’s face as though they were a delicate lab experiment. 

Crowley gave him a reassuring smile. “I’m alright, angel,” they promised, startled to realize that was entirely true. They  _ were _ alright. “Really, I am. Let’s go for that picnic, I’ll be alright. I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Thank you, love,” he said softly.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley said suddenly, looking up from the tray of food he’d been contemplating. 

“Yes, Crowley?” Aziraphale looked back at him, concern lighting his gaze. 

“I love you, Aziraphale,” Crowley said simply, before sticking a bite of the chocolate-chip muffin Aziraphale had brought him into his mouth. He chewed quickly and swallowed it down, smiled. “I don’t say that very often, do I? Not often enough.”

“You have a lot on your mind, dear boy. I have no objection to saying it often enough for the both of us. You have your own way of showing it, I don’t need to hear you say it all the time. It’s nice, but you needn’t feel badly about it, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, “I love you too, my darling.”

"I'm a demon. I should say it more often, how am I supposed to expect that you know? I'm not supposed to love." 

"My darling, being a demon doesn't define you. And just the fact that you're still here with me reminds me everyday that you love me. I don't know many people who would sleep next to someone they thought might hurt them just because they loved them. I know you think this is all my sacrifice, but you've put yourself through an unimaginable amount, as well. I'm just grateful that you let me stay here and help. And whether or not you remember to tell me that you love me, I know. I can sense love, I'm an angel. And all of the love I've sensed for the last 6,000 years finally makes sense. I didn't know why it used to follow you around, I didn't know why the feeling was so much stronger when you were nearby. I spent a long time oblivious, thinking exactly as you did, that demons weren't meant to love and it couldn't be you. But it was you, my love. You loved me before I even learned to love myself."

Crowley sniffled, even though he wasn’t upset. He hadn’t even realized he was crying, it was such a regular occurrence these days. “‘M damaged goods, ‘ziraphale. Y’deserve someone better. Someone  _ whole. _ ”

“You  _ are _ whole.” 

“I gave everything to a  _ monster,” _ Crowley whispered, “when it should have gone to you.” 

Aziraphale shook his head. “Crowley, you didn’t give him anything. He  _ took _ it from you. I  _ know _ you don’t believe me, I know it hurts even more if you think about believing me and it doesn’t really matter, I would still love you no matter what, but he  _ took _ that from you. He tricked you and took that from you, and someday I hope you’ll understand that, my love. You didn’t give him anything. He raped you and used you as he saw fit, and your feelings on the matter didn’t have anything to do with it in his eyes. He only made you agree so you would hold yourself responsible. He’s a manipulative  _ liar _ and he wanted to be able to hurt you in the most ways possible. You’ve done  _ nothing _ wrong, given  _ nothing _ away and besides, this relationship isn’t based on giving and receiving, my love. You don’t  _ need _ to have anything to give me. You give me everything I could possibly want in this world just being here with me. Just by letting me live this at your side and not casting me away, I swear to you. There’s no place I’d rather be.”

Crowley gave him a disbelieving look. Aziraphale sighed. “I know you don’t believe me, love, but I’m going to keep telling you like it is until you do. And I still do know you didn’t fall to break your wrist-”

“Stop it with the wrist!” Crowley snapped suddenly. “Just leave it alone, won’t you? Just believe what I have to say, which is that I slipped and fell on a wet floor, or drop the subject!” 

“I would, love, only last time I asked you told me you fell down the stairs. The time before, you tripped over something. And it’s the fact that your story keeps changing that tells me you don’t want me to know what really happened, and that tells me that Lucifer broke your wrist. Probably intentionally.”

“Why would you just leave it alone?” Crowley asked, sliding a ways backwards on the satin blankets he had replaced in the bedroom above the shop. “Why can’t you just drop the subject? Who cares  _ how _ I broke my wrist, I broke my wrist and I couldn’t do miracles for most of the time I was pregnant with Adam! Happy now?” 

“You couldn’t do miracles?” Aziraphale repeated, eyes widening. “But- you fixed your car! And your ankle when you fell in the bookshop!” 

“That was around the last time I managed a miracle, Aziraphale. It’s not important now, I really don’t know why you’re making such a big deal out of any of this!”

“Because someone  _ hurt _ you Crowley! Someone  _ hurt _ you and it still hurts you and I’m trying to help but how can I if you won’t tell me what’s wrong?” Aziraphale asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “All I want to do is help.”

“Then why won’t you drop things when I tell you they’re nothing?” Crowley asked, frowning. 

“Because I know you’re lying to me, Crowley, and I’m worried about what would make you lie to me _ now.” _

Aziraphale had sound logic. But that night had never  _ happened, _ Crowley wasn’t going to start acknowledging that it had happened  _ now, _ and discussing the injury that didn’t have a good explanation if that night had really just been a nightmare made it hard to say it had been a nightmare. 

It had to be a nightmare, because Satan had never laid a finger on him that Crowley hadn’t  _ allowed, _ no matter what Aziraphale said, so he  _ wouldn’t  _ have done what he did in the nightmare. He wouldn’t have dropped the illusion, it wasn’t what he did. He liked that Crowley agreed, he  _ wanted _ Crowley to agree so why would he drop the illusion that made that happen? 

It had to have been a nightmare. “I’m not lying, Aziraphale. I’m just not really sure  _ how _ I broke it, that’s all. Didn’t really notice at first.”

“You didn’t notice that your wrist was broken.” 

Aziraphale made it sound stupid. Of course Crowley had  _ noticed,  _ it was just that when he  _ woke up _ with the injury after the nightmare he had realized that he must have done it earlier and just not remarked on it.

It wasn’t like he could possibly break his wrist in his  _ sleep. _ So the only other rational answer was doing it the day previous. “Precisely.” 

Aziraphale couldn’t more clearly disbelieve Crowley if he tried. “When you’re ready to tell me what happened, please don’t hesitate. I want to be here for you, even for the parts you don’t want to talk about just yet. I’m afraid I’ve probably quite ruined your mood for a picnic, would you like me to leave you be for a while?” 

Crowley shook his head. He didn’t actually know what he  _ wanted _ Aziraphale to do, but he knew he didn’t want the angel to leave.

He should have been right, he should have ruined Crowley’s mood, only everything running through Crowley’s head right now was a nightmare. None of it had actually happened, compared to the many horrors his mind could pull out for him. 

And Aziraphale had no part in the nightmare. The  _ reason _ he knew it had to be a nightmare was that Aziraphale hadn’t been there. “Sit with me?” He asked, slowly shifting forwards a little so he wasn’t cramming himself against the corner of the bed, away from Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale sat a little further onto the bed, close enough for him to reach out and hold Crowley, although he didn’t and it was probably for the best that he didn’t. Crowley really wasn’t sure how he would feel about that right now. 

But he was content just to sit in bed, fingers just nearly brushing Aziraphale’s while he picked at the rest of his breakfast. 


	28. Chapter 28

Crowley was asleep when there was a knock at the door. It started them out of their surprisingly dreamless sleep, they sat up with a start. 

Aziraphale had an arm draped across their back, which was not  _ entirely _ unusual these days, although he always did ask before they went to bed if that was okay. 

Typically speaking, Crowley didn’t mind it. It helped them sleep a little deeper, it wasn’t like snuggling up to them and keeping them sheltered under an arm was something that Lucifer would have done, and most of the time Crowley was fully capable of telling themself that. 

It was when the floor creaked from behind the closed bedroom door that Crowley realized no one had knocked at the front door. 

Whoever was here was just outside the bedroom. 

And all of the sudden, Crowley’s careful sense of calm fled. They shoved into Aziraphale’s shoulder, waking the angel from sleep he didn’t usually indulge in. “Zira someone’s in the house!” They whispered, as foggy green eyes opened and stared up at them. 

Crowley’s warning woke Aziraphale up pretty quickly, and the angel sat up. “Where, my darling?”

“J- just outside the door!” Crowley hissed, sitting up fully, satin blankets pooling at their waist. They had worn one of Aziraphale’s cardigans to bed, and it draped off one of their shoulders. Their hair was mussed from sleep, and from the way Aziraphale contemplated them, they must have looked terrified. “Darling, you know that Adam said Lucifer can’t come back to Earth. You’re safe here,” he whispered, “let me go check to see who’s here.” 

“No!” Crowley lunged forwards and caught Aziraphale’s hands as he tried to slide off the bed, mind full of unbidden images of who might be out there and what they would do. 

A demon could  _ destroy _ Aziraphale the moment the door was opened. Utterly obliterate the angel, leaving Crowley alone and terrified and honestly, was there anything worse they could do to him than kill his angel? “Let me go.” 

Aziraphale tried to protest, but Crowley slid out of bed, pulled down the cardigan they were wearing and walked slowly up to the door. 

Whoever was out there probably wasn’t that smart. They probably believed they had the upper hand, probably believed that Crowley and Aziraphale didn’t know he was a threat. 

Crowley, on the other hand, knew too well that  _ everyone _ could be a threat. They snuck over to the door, silently gripped the handle and threw it open, leaping backwards and along the side of the wall as they did so. 

They weren’t quick enough. A cold, rough hand grabbed their wrist and twisted their arm behind their back, cracking at least one joint and yanking them backwards by their now-definitely-broken arm even as Aziraphale shouted and lunged for the door. 

It hurt like the dickens, but Crowley still tried to struggle away. 

Hastur threw something at the ground, and the doorway erupted into flames even as Crowley stood in them, but they didn’t really burn.    
“Aziraphale, stop!” They screamed as they were dragged backwards, fully aware of  _ what _ sort of fire they were standing in. 

“You didn’t really think you would escape me, did you, Crowley?” 

It wasn’t the voice Crowley had expected, that was the only thing that kept them calm. Adam’s promise had held, it wasn’t Lucifer. They still struggled just as hard, shifting to a snake just seconds too late not to be caught by Hastur’s headlock. 

They didn’t have more mobility as a snake, so they switched back to having more limbs to throw around and make it difficult to hold onto him. 

Aziraphale couldn’t get through the door, so Crowley had to get free and get the blaze under control. “Let go!” He snarled, driving his elbow into Hastur’s stomach, but it didn’t seem to have an effect. 

“You destroyed my lurking partner of six thousand years, Crowley. Did you really think I would let you get away with it?” Hastur hissed into his ear, jerking him backwards once more. 

“Let me go!” Crowley snapped, writhing without any success. The grip around his throat just tightened, and while he didn’t need air to breathe, it wasn’t pleasant to have it stolen from him. 

“Why should I, Crowley? Lucifer hasn’t got dibs on you anymore, you’re not off-limits to anyone else. I can do whatever I want to you and no one cares. And first, I think I’ll let you watch your partner be destroyed.” 

“No!” Crowley clawed at Hastur’s arm, but it didn’t do any good. 

“Of course, you  _ really _ aren’t on reserve anymore. So we could always multitask,” Hastur suggested, reaching a hand up Crowley’s cardigan and digging his fingers into one of their breasts. “I wonder what else that corporation of yours can make. Adam appears to be quite the let down, maybe the next one won’t be.” 

Crowley didn’t dignify that with words, just shrieked at the top of their lungs and tried again, fruitlessly, to squirm away. “Aziraphale!” They shouted, knowing full well the angel couldn’t get out of the room. There was no window, the door was blocked by Hellfire. 

Aziraphale, if Crowley’s didn’t do anything about it, was going to burn to death, and Hastur was going to haul Crowley off to some secluded corner and never let them see the light of day again. “Aziraphale!” 

“Your angel friend is never leaving that room alive,” Hastur growled, nails digging into Crowley’s soft flesh from where his hand was beneath the blue cardigan. “Your angel friend is done for, and I’m going to make you  _ wish _ you were still playing the part of Lucifer’s sex toy, Crowley. That’s going to seem like a  _ dream _ compared to what I do to you.” 

Crowley was still staring ahead at the fire in the door, completely focused on getting Aziraphale out of that room but they couldn’t think clearly, they were  _ terrified. _ Hastur had struck the one nerve Crowley couldn’t stand to have touched. 

“Because I’m not  _ just _ going to rape you, Crowley, I’m going to tear you into little pieces and issue you a new corporation just so I can do it again in a different way.  _ You _ alone are going to make me feel better after the death of Ligur, in every way that such a pathetic little snake  _ can.” _

“Aziraphale!” Crowley shouted again, but he was fairly sure the angel couldn’t hear him anymore. He couldn’t think of what to do to save the angel, and he feared it was too late. 

“And in fact, I think we should start right now,” Hastur hissed, “right in that room. On the bed you slept in with the angel, where that angel  _ died. _ I ought to cut off your bloody wings and fuck you on top of them, right in that pretty little bedroom you shared with the principality. Did he fuck you there, too? I’ll bet he did, used your  _ worthless _ shape for everything it’s worth on those pretty satin sheets. Why should he have all the fun? Maybe we’ll just stay here until you discorporate, you worthless  _ snake-”  _

Hastur whirled around to drag Crowley back into the bedroom, and found a celestial weapon plunged into his stomach, black blood dripping onto the floor. 

“I think I have a better idea,” a calm voice said, clearly the wielder of the blade. “You’re going to leave now. You’re going to let my darling Crowley go, and I’m going to make some cocoa for the both of us, and settle in somewhere they feel safe. And I don’t think you’ll be coming back.” 

Hastur snarled and shoved Crowley towards the voice. Crowley put their hands out in front of them, felt the celestial steel slice into their palms as they glanced off the blade and collapsed to the ground, but the wounds weren’t severe enough to be deadly.

The blade tore downwards, Hastur howled and collapsed to the ground, pulsing black blood onto the carpet until there was nothing left to drain. 

A slippered foot tapped the empty form of what  _ used _ to be a duke of Hell, and it disappeared. “Celestial weaponry, I’m afraid. If you truly missed the demon Crowley doused with Holy Water, then I imagine you may even be happy. You should both be in the same states of existence, now,” said a very familiar voice that  _ could not _ have gotten out of the room, he  _ had _ to be dead, declared. “Crowley, my darling, are you hurt?” 

Crowley sobbed and rushed forwards, through his arms around Aziraphale. “How-” 

“Oh, it wasn’t so hard. I merely summoned some water and blessed it. That room is rather off-limits to the both of us at the moment, but I used Holy Water to douse the Hellfire and walk out. It was a bit of a gamble whether it would work, but it turned out alright,” Aziraphale replied, not dropping his sword but still pulling his arms tightly around the demon. “I should  _ never _ have let him get to you, I’m sorry, love,” he whispered, “they’re  _ not _ going to get you again.” 

His voice took on a dark tone that Crowley didn’t like. They didn’t know what Aziraphale meant to do, but they didn’t like the tone. 

They especially didn’t like when Aziraphale slackened his grip on Crowley and tightened that on the sword that Crowley hadn’t even known he still had. He had fully believed it had gone back to the deliveryman, and he couldn’t fathom how Aziraphale had gotten ahold of it again, but it was flaming like anything in the angel’s grip. 

Crowley tightened their hold on Aziraphale, pressed their face into the angel’s shoulder. “I’m alright, angel, he didn’t hurt me,” they whispered, even though that wasn’t strictly true and they knew it. 

There was just nothing Aziraphale could  _ do _ about it. Hastur hadn’t hurt Crowley, it was the  _ sword _ that had wounded them and it wouldn’t kill them, two slices into the meat of their palms wouldn’t be enough to kill a demon, even  _ with _ a celestial blade, but it wasn’t a wound that could be  _ healed.  _

It was like walking on consecrated ground. The slashes  _ burned, _ they were going to  _ keep _ burning until they were good and ready to stop, and they would  _ bleed _ until they were ready to stop, too. 

And they would certainly scar, just like the consecrated ground had. 

But there was something Aziraphale  _ could _ help. It wasn’t the same arm that had been injured while they were still pregnant, which was a relief. They couldn’t imagine going through a break there again. 

They held their swollen arm out to the angel. They still didn’t lift their face from his shoulder, but they felt surprisingly gentle yet shaking fingers brush their arm and whatever break or strain there was faded. 

But it was immediately after that when the angel gently uncurled Crowley’s fingers from their death-grip on the fabric of his shoulder and forcibly moved them back. Crowley couldn’t understand  _ why, _ and they tried to reach back for the angel but he shook his head. 

“I clearly have something I have to take care of,” he said venomously. 

“What, angel?” 

What did he have to take care of? Where did he need to be other than here, with Crowley, where Crowley needed him? They didn’t want him to leave, why was he talking like he was leaving?

“No one is going to storm into  _ our _ home and put you in danger. Not again. I’m going to go take care of the problem at the source and  _ see _ who  _ dares _ try to come after you again when I’m through.”

“Aziraphale, what do you mean?” 

“I heard what he threatened to do to you, Crowley!” Aziraphale replied, “he was going to try to make things  _ worse _ than the last twelve years, as though Lucifer set some sort of  _ standard _ for what you should go through! I’m not going to let him get away with it!” Aziraphale said hysterically. 

“So what are you going to do instead? Are you going to march right into Hell and fight  _ Lucifer the blood Morningstar? _ ” Crowley demanded, staring at the angel in shock. 

They had never seen Aziraphale like this, with such fire in his eyes and such murderous intent. 

“If that’s what I have to do to keep you safe, Crowley, then that’s what I’ll do.  _ I’m _ not afraid of Lucifer, he  _ can’t _ threaten me into submission and I’m not going to  _ let _ Hell get away with what they’ve done to you, Crowley. How can I let them get away with it?” 

“Don’t you get it, Aziraphale? He gets away with it! He  _ always _ gets away with it, he’s the bloody  _ devil _ and you and I are just an angel and a demon! There’s fucking  _ nothing _ we can do about it, it just  _ happens! _ What do you think you’re going to do about it, angel?” 

Aziraphale looked as though he had  _ never _ considered that to be a question. “I’m going to make it so that he  _ can’t _ do anything like what he did to you again,” he said darkly. 

“And what did he do to me that I didn’t agree to let him?”

“Don’t you play that  _ shit _ with me, Crowley! You know  _ damn _ well you didn’t  _ let _ him do anything, were you ever  _ once _ in a position to tell him no?”

Crowley faltered for a moment. “That’s not the point, angel, I said-”

“That’s the entirety  _ of _ the point, Crowley! If saying no was never an option it doesn’t  _ matter _ if you said yes, he  _ raped _ you no matter  _ what _ you said to him and I’m not going to stand here and do nothing about it any longer! I’m going to take care of the problem, I don’t  _ care _ what I have to do and who I have to hurt to do it!”

“And what if you have to hurt  _ me _ to do it, Aziraphale?” Crowley asked quietly, fixing the angel in their gaze. 

“How could putting a  _ stop _ to Lucifer’s shit ever  _ possibly  _ hurt you, Crowley?” Aziraphale demanded.    
“Because you’re not going to come back, Aziraphale! He’s going to destroy you, and what the Hell am I supposed to do then? You don’t stand a goddamn chance and don’t lie to me and tell me you do, you  _ don’t!  _ It doesn’t matter how angry on my behalf you are, angel, this is  _ Lucifer _ we’re talking about, he’ll reduce you to  _ nothing _ and how am I supposed to feel better after that? You’ll have died for bloody  _ nothing! _ I don’t need you to destroy Satan or whatever you plan on doing to him for me, I just need you to  _ be here _ with me.” 

Crowley hadn’t know where their rant was going until it ended, until they felt the tears streaming down their cheeks and Aziraphale’s sword clattered to the floor, flames going out the moment it hit the carpet. 

“Don’t you get it, angel? I just need  _ you. _ Nothing else.” 

And the angel surged forwards and enveloped Crowley in his warm embrace, and for just a moment, everything seemed right with the world. 


	29. Chapter 29

“I shouldn’t have pushed it, Crowley. I shouldn’t have pushed  _ you. _ I’m sorry, my dear,” Aziraphale said softly, taking a seat beside the demon where they sat on the couch with a cup of tea in their hands. 

“You’re right, aren’t you?” Crowley asked, a tear dripped into their tea. “You’ve been right all along and I just don’t want to have to say it, isn’t that it?” 

Aziraphale sighed. “I had no right to push you, Crowley. It happened to  _ you, _ not to me. I have no right to tell you what happened, no right to tell you what didn’t.” 

“I never could have said no. Not once. I did, once, and-” Crowley cut themself off. “I couldn’t say no. Saying yes doesn’t  _ bloody _ matter when you can’t say no but- I thought if I said yes-”

Crowley sniffled, wiped their eyes before another salty tear dripped into their tea. 

“Crowley, I can’t tell you what did or didn’t happen to you, my love. It’s not my right, it’s not my place. If knowing that you said yes is important to you, if it makes a difference to you then it’s your  _ right _ to hold onto that, love. If it makes anything even the  _ slightest _ bit better, a fraction easier, to know that you still got to agree, then no one should take that away from you, certainly not me.” 

“He never would have cared if I  _ had _ said no. Not the first time, he still would have done what he did. And later if I wanted to say no-” 

Crowley didn’t want to finish, gulped down a sip of their tea. 

Aziraphale held a hand out, didn’t touch them until they leaned up against his side. 

Then he pulled his arm around their shoulder, pressed a kiss to their hair. “I’m the one in the wrong here, Crowley. Not you. I shouldn’t have let myself get frustrated with you. I can’t possibly imagine what this is like for you, my darling, and I shouldn’t have snapped at you and tried to make you see things my way. I should be trying to see things your way, love. You’ve been through a terrible ordeal these last twelve years, and the only thing that matters to me, the only thing that  _ should _ matter is ensuring that you have a safe place to recover, my love. I didn’t offer you a safe place to hide when it was happening, but I’ll be damned if I can’t give you a safe place to recover now.” 

Crowley put their tea to the side, curled a little more snugly into Aziraphale’s side, burying their face in his tan coat. “I don’t want him to have all of me, Zira,” they whispered, the angel could barely make out their words. “‘Ll along, planned on givin’ it to you.” 

Aziraphale’s heart broke even more if that was possible. “Crowley, everything you’re talking about him having has to be given willingly, my love. If you don’t want to let him have it, then he doesn’t. He can’t take any of it from you, and if you weren’t sure, or didn’t want  _ him _ to have it then no matter what you said to him, you didn’t give it up,” the angel whispered, pressing another kiss into Crowley’s soft red hair. “And even if you don’t see it that way, my love, you don’t _ need _ to have anything to give me. Just knowing I have your  _ love _ is everything I could possibly ever want.” 

Crowley sobbed into Aziraphale’s coat, but the angel wasn’t done yet. “I don’t need all of you, Crowley. If there’s parts you’re not ready to share then you hold onto them until  _ you _ want to share them. I’ll love every part you’re ready to share with me. I  _ love _ every part of you you’re willing to share, and it’s humbling that you’re willing to share  _ any _ of this with me, darling. Anything you need to keep to yourself is yours, my love, I won’t judge you or pry. I understand there might be things you don’t want me to know, or aren’t ready to talk about. I just need you to know what if you  _ want _ to share, I’ll listen to every word you say, and you’ll never find judgement here.” 

Crowley nodded, didn’t look up just yet. “Does it make me crazy if I still  _ do?”  _ They whispered. 

“If you still do what, my love?” Aziraphale asked, leaning back ever so slightly so Crowley would sit up and look at him for a moment. 

The serpent’s cheeks were streaked with tears, eyes had gone fully yellow. “If I still  _ would _ want to give everything to you, if I had it to give.” 

Aziraphale fell silent, stunned by the admission. 

After everything they had been through, Crowley still sounded  _ certain _ of that fact. “No dear, it doesn’t make you crazy. Far from. Someday I hope we manage to do everything you ever wanted in our relationship, Crowley, I just think we’ll have to take things much more slowly than you might have thought twelve years ago.” 

“It was me we were going too fast for all along,” Crowley said. 

“I shouldn’t have ever said that, love. I  _ knew _ how I felt about you, I  _ thought _ you might feel the same and I got nervous, Crowley. I had just given you Holy Water, I still didn’t know how you intended to use it and I was  _ scared, _ Crowley. Too scared. Too scared of Heaven and everything else to just let  _ us _ be happy.”

“It’s true what you say. That you wouldn’t have helped me. Isn’t it, angel?” Crowley asked quietly. 

“I wasn’t ready to be who you needed me to be. I had too much faith in Heaven and not enough in you. I hate that you went through the past twelve years alone, Crowley, I really do, but I’m thankful everyday that you didn’t come to me and give me a chance to ruin everything. I  _ wasn’t _ ready and if I had gotten the chance to hurt you because of it, I never would have forgiven myself.”

“I would have,” Crowley said, staring up at Aziraphale. “I would have forgiven you for anything.” 

“I know you would have, love. But I don’t want you to  _ need _ to forgive me. I don’t want to give you a reason to need to forgive me. I want to do this  _ right _ for you, Crowley.” 

Crowley nodded, wiped their eyes and reached up, caressing the side of Aziraphale’s cheek with one of their thin, long, elegant hands, nails painted a glossy black, then pushed themself up a little bit to press a kiss to the angel’s lips. 

Aziraphale had gotten good at trusting Crowley to know their limits, so he far from protested when Crowley did this again a few more times. 

They eventually let their hand drop and leaned their cheek against Aziraphale’s chest, practically climbed into his lap. 

“Do you like doing that, love?”

“Kissing you?” Crowley asked, seeming puzzled by the question. 

“It’s just that you do it often. I’m not complaining, I just want to know what you like, dear,” Aziraphale explained. 

Crowley nodded. “Tried before. Didn’t end well for me. Figured I had better just give up before things got worse than that.” 

From the way everything about Crowley’s demeanour darkened, Aziraphale realized that was quite as far as Crowley was willing to go with that train of thought. 

He wondered if it had to do with Lucifer breaking their wrist. He knew it had been Lucifer, snapped it in a fit of rage against the poor demon, but he would respect Crowley’s wishes and not bring it up until they were ready to talk about it.

“It wasn’t me, darling. I don’t know what happened when you first got up the nerve to try, but I’m so sorry it  _ wasn’t _ me.” 

“S’okay,” Crowley said simply, shrugging their shoulders. “Got the real thing now, don’t I, as long as I can convince myself it’s really you.”

“As much as you want. Until you can’t remember when it wasn’t me, if that’s what you need.” Aziraphale smirked. “You won’t catch me complaining.”

Crowley was quiet for a moment. “Thank you,” they said suddenly. 

“For what, dear?” Aziraphale asked, furrowing his eyebrows. 

“Getting rid of Hastur. You have no idea how much I  _ wished _ the Holy Water had taken him out too… everything he said to me… did…”

“Surely he can’t have done anything to you, Crowley, you’ve been-”

“Lucifer didn’t always have me off-limits. They didn’t do what He did, thankfully, but I am not untouchable. He’s done plenty and I’m glad to be rid of him. I’ve been under his and Ligur’s thumbs for as long as I can remember, angel. Since the fall, when Lucifer pawned responsibility of the lesser demons off on the dukes. He said He didn’t have time to deal with us all, at least He was  _ honest _ about it, He didn’t just avoid us with no explanation…”

Aziraphale knew Crowley was talking in comparison to God. The Almighty _ had _ cut contact with everyone and everything, left Her Archangels in charge but didn’t offer any explanations. 

And for someone like Crowley, that would have been unbearable. Crowley had  _ questions, _ they had their endless imagination and curiosity.

“Apparently He kept an eye on me. He told me He did, one of the times He came back,” Crowley said, biting at their lip. 

Aziraphale held his breath, waiting to see if Crowley would continue. They didn’t often, they would trail into a topic they didn’t want to discuss just yet and drop it. 

“Said I did it on purpose,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale pondered that over for a long time before finally asking what they meant. 

“That you did what on purpose, my love?”

“Tempted people.” 

There had to be more to it than that. Crowley was rather proud of some of their temptations. 

“That I  _ chose _ to-” they looked down at themself, in a black dress shirt and tight black jeans, and all at once it clicked. 

“He told you that you tempted  _ Him. _ That you wanted what was happening.” 

Crowley swallowed hard, nodded. 

“You didn’t do anything, Crowley.”

“Didn’t I?” Crowley disentangled themself from Aziraphale’s grasp, stood up and gestured to their form. 

Aziraphale had to admit, if he didn’t know it bothered Crowley, he would describe them in one simple word. 

_ Tempting.  _

In every form of the word. Crowley was a sight to behold at any moment, sharp lines and harsh angles, long and thin and beautiful. He could follow the long, elegant lines of bones down their fingers and toes, marvel at every arch of their too-fluid spine.

Their dress shirt was only partially buttoned, Aziraphale could catch a glimpse of their red chest hair, their jeans impossibly tight. They had no shoes, no socks, had painted their finger and toenails black the last time Anathema had been by the bookshop.

He’d loved Crowley’s eyes since the very first time he had seen them, knowing they were the eyes of the serpent that had tempted Eve. He hadn’t wanted to like anything about the Serpent of Eden, and yet upon his first look at Crowley he’d been unable to look away, Crowley, with their unruly curled hair and brilliant yellow eyes, freckles spattered across their skin like the stars of distant galaxies.

Crowley was, indeed, breathtaking. Aziraphale didn’t think for a second he was biased, he would truly be stunned if other people didn’t notice. 

But now was not the time for any of those thoughts. Crowley was losing faith in him with every second of Aziraphale’s silence. He needed to say something, anything, to comfort the demon. 

“Crowley?” Aziraphale said, very calmly. 

“Yes angel?”

“Are you happy with your appearance?” 

Crowley frowned. “What do you mean by that, Aziraphale?”

“Do you like the way you look. Looking like you do, wearing what you do, does it make you happy?”

Crowley seemed to need to think about that for a moment, Aziraphale held his arms out and convinced Crowley to come and sit down again, to stop parading himself around like they needed to be judged. 

“I think it does, angel,” Crowley said finally. 

Aziraphale smiled. “You’re not responsible for how other people feel when they see you, Crowley. You’re only responsible to make sure you’re happy and comfortable with your appearance.”

“You’re saying it’s true, Aziraphale,” Crowley said quietly, although they didn’t stand up again. They just seemed tired. “Since the very beginning, I’ve been doing it. It’s my own fault he came for me because I’ve been tempting people all along.”

“Crowley, you haven’t done anything wrong.” 

“I’ve tempted  _ you.”  _

Aziraphale blinked. “Dearest, you haven’t  _ tempted _ me. Not the way you think. I’ve not been fooled or tricked into anything, my interest in you is purely based on  _ you _ , not a game you’ve been playing to get my attention. If you have  _ tempted _ me, as you say, then-”

“I  _ have, _ Aziraphale,” Crowley interrupted, cutting the angel off. “Intentionally.” 

Aziraphale was quiet as he tried to process that. “I don’t doubt that any demon worth their snuff wouldn’t have tried to tempt an angel when they got the chance. I imagine you tried to tempt me quite often, in the beginning.”

“Not in the beginning. Far more recently than that.”

Aziraphale honestly didn’t know what to say to that. “Tempted me… into working with you? To raise Warlock? To try to avert the apocalypse?” 

Crowley shook their head, reached up and furiously wiped away the tears that had started forming in their eyes.

“Then… then what have you tried to tempt me over?” Aziraphale asked, fighting hard not to feel betrayed. 

He hadn’t been paying attention for Crowley tempting him for the last two thousand years, not really. Not since Rome, not since the oysters. 

Oysters, as would be discovered much later into history, were powerful aphrodisiacs. They had both  _ almost _ done some things they might have regretted. 

But it was Crowley who had held a hand against Aziraphale’s chest and told him that they had to stop. 

Not for their own sake, he had never learned if Crowley had personal stakes in stopping them. 

Because Crowley had feared that a temptation like  _ that _ would lead to Aziraphale’s Fall.

That was the last time Aziraphale had worried that Crowley might be  _ trying _ to sabotage him. The concern was too genuine, too obvious. They hadn’t been any more prepared for Aziraphale to Fall than the angel had been. 

“Crowley… what have you-” 

“He knew it was you,” Crowley said, sniffled, “I was a damned  _ fool _ to think he didn’t but he knew all along it was _ you.” _

“How wouldn’t he? He was wearing my form, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, frowning. 

“He didn’t specify. Just…  _ whoever I would most like to see. _ That’s all the illusion was. I thought for a long time he didn’t know who that  _ was, _ but I must have said something, your name, I don’t know!” 

Crowley’s voice was bordering on hysterical, Aziraphale tried to quiet them but had no success. 

“And what did he say, my love?” Aziraphale asked, running a hand gently along the length of Crowley’s arm. 

“H- he said that i- if I did my job, and did it well-” Crowley cut themself off, sobbed. “That he would see to it you weren’t destroyed. That if I could behave, he’d- he’d-”

Crowley couldn’t get the last of the statement out, but Aziraphale had a good guess. “He said he’d give me to you,” he surmised, no matter how horrified the realization made him he kept his voice level, calm. 

Crowley barely moved, but Aziraphale saw them nod. 

“But you don’t need to tempt me to do your job, love.”

“He said- he said if I could make you Fall, he’d never touch me again. I’d finally be free. I didn’t think I could do it but- but after the bandstand-”

Crowley hiccuped, sobbed again. 

Aziraphale fought the urge to push them away, to shake answers out of them, for what he could have done to deserve to be betrayed like that, but he had a feeling he knew. 

“I told you there was no us,” Aziraphale said, fighting hard to keep calm. “I told you there was no us, and you couldn’t see  _ why _ you should protect me at your expense if that was true.”

Crowley wouldn’t even  _ look _ at Aziraphale, and the angel couldn’t find the words to tell them that everything was alright. 

It wasn’t. 

"You'd have traded your hurt for mine, just because I rejected you." 

Aziraphale felt horrible when Crowley recoiled, staring at him in shock. "No- that's not what I- I didn't mean-"

"Then how did you mean it, Crowley?" Aziraphale snapped, "how did you mean for me to feel after you told me you would have tempted me to _Fall_ so that I could be your prize at the end of the world? So that Lucifer would keep his hands off a demon? Good _God,_ Crowley, how forgiving am I supposed to be?" 

Aziraphale didn't have to tell them to leave, or push them away, in the end. 

Crowley fled of their own accord, and somehow, Aziraphale didn't quite feel guilty. 

Just betrayed. 


	30. Chapter 30

Crowley didn’t know how long she had been gone anymore. 

She had gone to the only place she could think of going, back to the Mayfair flat. She hadn’t been back since the night she and Aziraphale had  _ tried _ to do something Crowley had imagined dozens of times, since the morning after they had escaped their executions. 

The little fern on her desk was brown and droopy. She didn’t even bother trying to fix it, they just tossed it. 

It was broken, useless, defective, just like her. There was no fixing what she had done and there was no fixing that stupid fern. She had tried everything, given it her utmost care no matter how much it hurt and it hadn’t gotten better. 

There was no sense in wasting her time on it now. It wasn’t going to get any better. She left it outside, on her doorstep. She would wait until frost or bad weather took it, and reuse the pot later. 

She didn’t feel any better once she had gotten rid of the fern, which had taken her at least the better part of a few days of staring at it every time her eyes cracked open where she laid on her bed, trying to sleep away every feeling that was roiling inside her stomach.

It didn’t work. She eventually climbed out of bed, got herself dressed and tried to pretend life was at all normal.

She tried to get herself to do what she would have before. Before the apocalypse, before Aziraphale had muddled her mind, before Lucifer had decided on  _ her. _ Tried to go back out, glue coins to the pavement, but it didn’t feel right. She’d barely glued down three coins before she went back home, curled herself up in a blanket and hidden in her main room, curled up on the leather couch, watching  _ Golden Girls _ in syndication and trying to get herself to laugh like she used to watching Betty White and company getting up to their shenanigans. 

The laughter hadn’t come as easily as it used to, nor did it feel genuine anymore. She eventually turned the telly off and just sat there, curled in her black blanket. 

She told herself this was ridiculous. That she shouldn’t be moping around. She had to keep going, she had to get on with life, she had a lot of it ahead of her and she shouldn’t waste it lying around at home feeling sorry for herself, but she didn’t manage to convince herself. 

And now that someone was knocking at her door, she didn’t know how long she’d been hiding at home, avoiding the world and everyone in it, notably one angel. 

She pulled the door open. 

Aziraphale was holding the pot with the fern from her bedroom. 

The brown leaves had fallen away, there was some green growth down at the very base. “It’s not dead yet, I didn’t think it should be sitting outside, Crowley. Isn’t this the one you-”

“Yes.” Crowley snatched the plant away, suddenly protective of it yet again. 

She set it on the table beside the door. “What do you want, Aziraphale?” She asked, frowning. The angel stepped inside without asking permission, but he did stay a few steps back from Crowley.

“I want to talk with you, Crowley. You ran off-”

“You were about to tell me to leave. Don’t lie to me, Aziraphale.” 

The angel sighed. “Regardless, I wanted to talk with you, Crowley. I think we both have something to say and we’ll both feel better once we’ve said it.”

“What is it you want to say, Aziraphale, I’m listening,” Crowley said, a little frustrated. 

Aziraphale looked at him sadly. “I’m sorry I got angry with you, Crowley. You stunned me, I took it badly. I should have let you explain instead of getting angry.” 

There was a moment of tense silence. 

“Is there anything  _ you _ would like to say?”

“What? What is it that you want me to say, Aziraphale, that I’m sorry? Because I’m not! I’m not sorry! Do you know why?” Crowley demanded, glaring up at the angel. “Because I have  _ nothing _ to be sorry for! I haven’t  _ done _ anything to you! If I wanted you to Fall, I wouldn’t have bloody needed to work that hard! I’ve had you since  _ Rome!”  _

Aziraphale blinked, recoiling in shock, but Crowley took a step towards him. She wasn’t done yet. “I could have had you in Rome if I’d bloody wanted to! Do you have  _ any _ idea how easy it would have been? If I hadn’t stopped you after you ate half that serving of oysters you’d have Fallen two thousand years ago, and I  _ stopped _ you!” 

“Contrary to your prudish beliefs, lust is not a sin worth Falling for, Crowley!” 

“But if you had  _ acted _ on lust for a  _ demon, _ it would have been! I should bloody well know! Do you have any idea how much easier the last two thousand years would have been for me if I had just let you Fall? Any idea what the Fall of an angel can do for a lesser demon? I gave that up for you, because I’ve always cared more about you than myself! I’ve  _ always _ put you first! I’ve followed you around like a bloody dog for the last six thousand years, cleaned up after your messes and gotten you out of trouble!” 

Aziraphale looked taken aback, Crowley didn’t stop, she didn’t want to stop, not now. Not now that it was finally all at the surface, boiled over and exploded. “I’ve followed you around for  _ six thousand years _ , making you  _ happy. _ It’s all I ever wanted to do. Six thousand years of showing up out of the blue when I  _ planned _ it that way, bailing you out of every stupid situation you got yourself into and keeping you  _ safe. _ And I come to you the  _ one _ time I can’t do that, the  _ one _ time I might need you to do something for me, to  _ consider _ giving something up for  _ me, _ like I have all my  _ bloody _ life for you, and you turn around and tell me that I’ve spent the last six thousand years looking after you for  _ nothing. _ For  _ nothing at all, _ that there is  _ no us _ and I’ve been a  _ fool _ for the last six thousand years for believing that there might be! I won’t apologize for being angry! I won’t apologize for putting  _ myself _ first in that instant, and trying for a single damn time in all of history to look after  _ myself _ because  _ you _ failed me, again!” Crowley snarled, taking another step forward. “And if you’re going to expect me to, expect me to fall to my knees and beg and plead for your forgiveness, I have a reminder for you!” 

Aziraphale was backed against a wall, Crowley stalked up even closer, holding him against the wall like she had in the satanic hospital. “I didn’t even do that for  _ God  _ before she threw me face-first into  _ Hell.  _ I  _ won’t  _ do it for you.” 

And with that, Crowley dropped her hold on Aziraphale’s collar, turned around and began to walk away. “If that’s what you’re going to expect, then I’m better off without you, Angel.”

She didn’t turn around. She made it back into her own room, with the empty dresser where the fern had used to sit, slammed the door behind her. 

And if she broke down and cried, with her back against that door, the second she was hidden from view, that was her business. 

She decided while she was crying against the door that she was going to go to Tadfield. 

Anathema was in Tadfield, and that was the only place Crowley could think to go now that the bookshop was out of the question and her own home didn’t feel like home. 

And Adam was in Tadfield, too. 

She wasn’t sure what had made her decide to talk with Adam. She wasn’t sure she wouldn’t back out the moment she got there, but she wanted to try. 

She stood up slowly, dried her eyes and splashed her face with cold water, redid her hair and makeup. Her eyeliner that she didn’t really remember doing, but remembered she had thought of before she went out to glue down coins, was smeared and running down her cheeks, her lipstick was smudged. 

She cleaned it away and stared at her fresh face in the mirror for a while before re-applying the makeup like a defense mechanism. 

She changed her clothes, the ones she was wearing were messy and frumpled, and pushed open her bedroom door. 

Aziraphale was sitting across the hall from the doorway, looked up when she stepped out. 

“You’re still here,” she said, surprised.

“Of course I am, Crowley-” 

“Don’t say that like that. You  _ haven’t _ always been there for me, don’t act like it’s cruel for me to assume you weren’t this time,” Crowley snapped, going to walk past him. 

“Where are you going, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, climbing to his feet. He looked concerned. 

“None of your business,” Crowley replied, brushing past him and heading for the door. “Tadfield.” 

“Are you going to see Anathema?” Aziraphale asked, taking a few steps towards her. 

“Why do you care?” Crowley demanded, whirling around to face him. 

Aziraphale looked hurt. “Crowley, we had a fight. That’s all. I haven’t stopped caring about you because you yelled at me, you didn’t think that I had, did you? I stayed here because I wanted to make sure you were okay, my love, and assure you that we’ll talk when you’re ready. I may have… overreacted, considering the circumstances. You never actually  _ tried _ to make me Fall, did you?” 

Crowley shook her head. 

“Just considered it.” 

Crowley nodded. 

Aziraphale sighed. “Go to Tadfield, love. Talk with Anathema, or whoever it is you’re going to see. Call me if you need me, you know you can always reach me. We’ll talk when you get back, and I promise I’ll listen to everything you have to say. But you have to understand that this is hard for me, too, Crowley. You’ve honestly told me that you contemplated passing your pain onto me.”

“Not the same pain. You can recover from Falling, every demon has.”

“Now isn’t the time, Crowley.”

Crowley nodded. 

Aziraphale took another step towards her, reached out as though to take her hand and then dropped it. “Be careful, my love. I’ll wait for you here.” 

Crowley nodded, and stepped out the door towards the Bentley. 

She still didn’t know how to feel. Aziraphale didn’t  _ get _ it, didn’t understand what she was saying. Didn’t understand the truth behind the options she’d been facing. 

Falling was one thing. Crowley remembered it well, the burning, the plummet, the soul-shattering  _ emptiness _ the Almighty had left behind in the pit of her chest when She had pulled away Her grace, Her love. She remembered what it felt like to watch the entire world she knew fall to pieces in an instant, remembered the searing pain of being claimed by someone who  _ wasn’t _ God, remembered seeing her reflection in a pool of sulfur, remembered tracing her finger along the black snake burned into her temple, running her fingers through the charred remains of her pure white wings.

She remembered  _ everything. _ It wasn’t the sort of thing you forgot, after all. 

But she had  _ survived. _ She’d clawed herself up from the ashes and fumes, made herself stand. 

She’d stared Lucifer eye to eye while He assigned her to Earth, had refused to back down. Had slipped from her old role of painting stars to her new one like a snake shedding its skin, it caught in places but she managed to free herself. 

She’d managed to  _ become _ herself. A version of herself she was certain wouldn’t have existed had God not thrown her out, has she not gained just the  _ slightest _ amount of freedom that day. 

It had been one of the hardest things she’d ever done, to haul herself out of the muck and slime, but over time her burns had healed, and the wounds  _ inside _ took longer, but they too, faded with time. 

She  _ knew _ how survivable a Fall was. She knew first-hand, far better than Aziraphale, an angel raised on horror stories of angels who plummeted into the sulfur and emerged something new, something twisted and cruel and sub-par to God’s beloved angels. 

Of the two of them, only she knew what it  _ truly _ was to Fall. To be stripped of everything you had ever been, cast out and claimed by the monster under children’s beds. 

And she knew she would go through that Fall, that most horrible thing she had  _ thought _ she would ever go through, hundreds of times to keep Lucifer’s hands off of her. She would be cast out of Heaven and plunged into the boiling sulfur, feel her wings burn and form reshape every day for the rest of her existence to never have been touched by Lucifer the Morningstar, to never have to remember what it was like to birth the Antichrist, to have  _ not _ spent the last twelve years going through what she had. 

She didn’t even have to think about it. She would do  _ anything _ not to have gone through the last twelve years. 

And Aziraphale…

Aziraphale believed her consideration of  _ his _ Fall to spare herself eons and eons of the last twelve years was cruel and selfish. Did he even know what those words  _ meant? _

_ So that Lucifer would keep his hands off a demon?  _

As though it was trivial, a  _ natural _ thing that Lucifer had done. Everything Aziraphale  _ claimed _ to believe about what had happened to Crowley, until it wasn’t Crowley suffering. 

Crowley was a demon. She knew selfishness when she saw it, and Aziraphale  _ reeked _ of it. He would do  _ anything _ to protect her, as long as there was no risk to himself. 

Had he even stopped to contemplate the alternatives if Crowley  _ didn’t _ make him Fall? What would happen to  _ him _ if the apocalypse had happened and Crowley  _ hadn’t _ done as she was told, and Fallen the angel? 

If Crowley’s claim over Aziraphale had been  _ denied, _ there was no telling what would have happened to the angel. Crowley had been trying to rescue  _ both _ of them, but Aziraphale couldn’t- no,  _ wouldn’t _ see it that way. The angel refused to see reason, to see that Crowley had considered doing the only thing she could. 

And she  _ hadn’t. _ When she’d seen the bookshop, she’d known she couldn’t. She couldn’t hurt her angel, not to save herself, not for  _ anything. _ The only way she would have is if Aziraphale had  _ asked _ her to. 

If Armageddon had happened and Hell had won, any angel  _ not _ destroyed in the war would be facing a fate worse than death. Beelzebub had often joked about what they would do to Gabriel once Heaven fell, and Crowley had known that her principality wouldn’t fare better. 

Crowley only would have done it to  _ protect  _ him.

Truly the most  _ selfish _ motive she’d ever heard, she thought bitterly as she sped away from the Mayfair flat. 


	31. Chapter 31

Crowley had expected herself to find Anathema, first and foremost. 

She needed a friend, someone to talk to who would  _ listen _ , who didn’t have personal stakes in what was happening, maybe a shoulder to cry on and a bottle of wine. 

Well, actually, Anathema didn’t care much for wine, but she did have a collection of tequila they could get into. Harder spirits were easier to drink with if you were drinking to stop feeling, and that was what Crowley thought she might want to do. 

She was angry, she was hurt, she felt upset and guilty and frustrated and she didn’t  _ want _ to feel  _ any _ of it. She cursed whoever had decided that angels and demons should  _ have _ feelings in the first place, when they roiled inside her like they were right now, made her feel sick to her stomach.

Which was why it was so strange that the Bentley was  _ not _ parked outside of Jasmine Cottage. 

It actually wasn’t parked outside  _ any _ of the homes, hidden somewhere along a back road. Tadfield was a small town, and Crowley didn’t want to attract attention parking such a recognizable car outside someone’s house. 

Particularly not the Youngs. 

If she wasn’t just upset and confused, if this was something she  _ actually _ wanted to do right now, then Adam would know she was there. 

Which didn’t seem to be the case. Crowley had been leaning against the front of the Bentley for the better part of an hour, debating going a little closer, actively  _ seeking _ Adam out or staying still and being grateful that the encounter would end this way. 

And that was probably why an eleven year old boy hadn’t found her yet. If Crowley didn’t even know if this was what she wanted, then Adam would know  _ that _ and not approach. 

It was the deal they had made, after all. Adam wasn’t going to approach her if she didn’t want him to, and being undecided didn’t count as  _ wanting _ him to. 

But Crowley wasn’t exactly pleased to be standing on a backroad, leaned against her car, either. 

She was wondering if she should just give up and go to Anathema’s cottage, have something to drink and a good vent, and come back later, when a mop of blond hair appeared from behind a slight hill. 

“Hello, Crowley,” Adam said. 

He sounded a little surprised to see her. “Hello, Adam,” Crowley said, voice shaking just ever so slightly. 

Adam didn’t dwell on the awkwardness of the meeting. Didn’t dwell on Crowley’s obvious misgivings. “What made you choose Adam?”

Crowley’s throat closed up. 

She could say  _ under duress. _ She knew that was true. She knew she wouldn’t have named the Antichrist  _ unless _ Lucifer forced her.

But she also knew that she had come up with the name Adam whilst Lucifer attempted to strangle her. 

He had only done that  _ once, _ and it was in a nightmare. Admitting that she  _ had _ named the Antichrist meant admitting that  _ wasn’t _ a nightmare, and there was no way that it could have been real. Lucifer didn’t ever repeat what had happened, and Crowley never would have told him what she said in the dream. 

But Crowley also remembered  _ why _ she had said  _ Adam, _ of all names. 

“You don’t have to answer. The nun suggested Adam to my dad, that’s why it’s my name. I just think it’s interesting that it’s the name  _ you _ chose, too.”

Crowley swallowed heavily. 

There was no sense in lying to Adam. He knew more than he should. “Your father made me name you,” she said honestly, “I… I think he was going to discorporate me. It would have destroyed my form and killed  _ you. _ I… I knew he would still make  _ me _ have you, whether he had to restart or not, so I tried to convince him not to.”

Adam looked horrified, and she wasn’t even done. “It’s not your fault, Adam. Lucifer did this, not you. You had nothing to do with it. He… he told me that if I had a  _ name _ for you then he would believe that I was actually trying to save you and not just myself.” 

Adam nodded. “I knew you were a baby boy, and the first boy’s name that came to mind was Adam. For Adam and Eve. I’m the Serpent of Eden, that’s part of  _ why _ it was me Lucifer chose. It seemed fitting. I don’t remember much else than that, I try to forget about it. It didn’t even occur to me that you were  _ actually _ named Adam until Lucifer pointed it out.” 

“Just to bother  _ you.” _

Crowley nodded. “I was happy to leave you to different parents, Adam. I was  _ supposed _ to help raise you, but you were  _ supposed _ to be switched for the son of the American Ambassador and the nuns screwed that up. I spent ten years raising a kid who turns out to just be a bit of a sweet little brat.” 

Adam nodded. “I can understand why you wanted nothing to do with me.”

“It’s a horrible thing for me to say, Adam, I’m sorry-” 

“You didn’t say it, and you don’t need to apologize, Crowley,” Adam said, shaking his head. “You never asked to have a son.” 

“I didn’t protest it, either. I just let it happen. I'm as much at fault as he is for bringing you into this world, for nearly destroying it. I just- I guess you could say I'm proud of you, in any way that I can be. The angel and I spent years trying to raise the American diplomat son to avert the Apocalypse, we'll never know if we succeeded. But you didn't need anyone's help."

"I don't think you're at fault for any of this," Adam said. He opened his mouth to speak again gut Crowley interrupted. 

"Adam, I didn't come here for absolution. I didn't come here to be told of whether or not your birth was my fault, in fact I came here to get away from it. It's all anyone has had to say to me since they found out, is how it's not my fault, and I don't care. I don't care if anyone thinks it's my fault or not, I do and it happened to  _ me _ . It happened to me, why does anyone else get to tell me whose fault it was. It doesn't matter if it's my fault or not, especially not for you. You don't have to live for what happened, your existence shouldn't be something you assign blame for in your head. What happened between myself and your father isn't your responsibility, Adam. I've always known that. From before you were born, the moment I really knew you were there,” Crowley thought back to that moment, sprawled on her bathroom floor with a flimsy little plastic wand in her hands and her entire future resting on two little lines. 

She remembered how much it had  _ hurt _ to see the two little red lines, even though that was the least dangerous option. Remembered how much it had  _ hurt _ to look down and know that she wasn’t alone in her corporation. 

“Do demons use pregnancy tests?” Adam asked, and as much as the question brushed up against hundreds of raw wounds in Crowley’s psyche, she was glad to hear a bit of  _ genuine _ curiosity in his voice. 

“This one did, and I do believe I’m the first one to need to think about it,” she replied, “sat like any would-be mother beside the toilet on the bathroom floor with the damned thing. Humans really need to make those tests faster, two minutes is an  _ unbearably _ long time to wait.” 

Adam nodded. “Will you… will you tell me how I was born?” He asked, voice hesitant. “I know how I was made, but I don’t-”

“Let’s you and I go for a drive, and I promise I’ll tell you anything you want to know,” Crowley said softly, reaching over and pulling the passenger’s door of the Bentley open. “Don’t tell your parents you went for a ride in a stranger’s car, though.” 

“You’re not a stranger, Crowley. I’ve known who you are since I saw you.” 

Crowley had to give him that one, she made sure he was well buckled in and gave the Bentley a threatening look so it wouldn’t even  _ think _ about getting into a crash.

Then she climbed into the driver’s seat and took off. 

She drove for about ten minutes before she started talking, Adam didn’t protest. “I gave birth on the side of a motorway on my way back to Tadfield from Scotland,” she said, ignoring the fact that she was speeding down the very same motorway now. “I was about a half-hour away from Tadfield Manor when I had to stop. You’d decided you’d had enough waiting.” 

“Why were you in Scotland? Shouldn’t-”

“Shouldn’t your father have been keeping me somewhere safe? He didn’t particularly care to do so. He would have just as easily started over if something happened to me. I can’t be  _ killed _ by the human world, only discorporated. He would have to expedite getting me a new body, but unless an angel threw some Holy Water in my face, or stabbed me with a celestial blade, there wasn’t anything that could  _ stop _ him from being able to start over. Although he did say that if anything  _ did  _ happen, I’d be spending the second time locked in his office. I had more incentive to keep myself safe than he had to protect me. My direct superior sent me to Scotland, and I couldn’t refuse,” Crowley replied. 

Adam nodded. 

“So I drove back to Tadfield the moment I went into labor, but I didn’t drive  _ fast _ enough. Hadn’t really been handling the speed as well since I crashed into a lamp post just a little while after-” 

Crowley stopped. There was really no  _ nice _ way to say it. 

“You had to fix this car then, too, didn’t you? When I fixed it after Armageddon, I already knew  _ how _ and I didn’t really know why. I just knew I had helped do it before.” 

Crowley smiled, just a little. “I did notice that miracle felt a little weird. They all did, right up until  _ you _ had all my power and I couldn’t do any miracles.” 

“You tried to heal your wrist.” 

Crowley slammed on the breaks. The car screeched to a halt, wavering on the gravel road before it stopped. “How do you know about that?” She demanded. 

“I remember you trying to fix your wrist the same way I remember fixing the car, Crowley. I don’t know  _ how _ it got broken, but I knew it was broken-”

“I slipped on some ice outside my flat,” Crowley said flatly, slowly putting the car back into gear and starting the drive again. “But yes, that was the first time I tried to use a miracle and found that I couldn’t.” 

Adam nodded. “It must have been scary.” 

It had been terrifying, standing in the bathroom with a busted lip and blackened eye and realizing she couldn’t get rid of any of it, but she  _ really _ didn’t want to think about it. “It was. But it got better after you were born. I kicked a crack in the Bentley’s dashboard when I was in labor, managed to get that fixed alright,” she said stiffly. 

“I upset you.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“But it is, isn’t it?  _ I’m  _ the reason my father came after you, got the idea of not going away afterwards. I’m the reason you went through all of this, that you couldn’t just-”

“You had no say in what happened. This isn't your fault and I'm  _ not  _ going to pretend that I'm a good mother or that I even  _ want _ to be a mother, but there is one thing I need you to know that only I can tell you. You're not to blame for any of this. You can strike it all from your conscience, none of this is your fault. You are innocent, I don't blame you and I don't want you to blame yourself. I don’t think I would live with myself if I knew you thought you were to blame.”

Adam was silent for a long time, soaking in what Crowley had said. “You really don’t blame me at all?” He asked, blue eyes wide. 

Crowley shook her head. “No, I don’t. Most days I don’t know  _ who _ I blame, but it’s never  _ you. _ You didn’t ask to be born.” 

Adam stared at her. “I think I would blame me.” 

“You were just a baby that needed to be born. It’s not your fault I  _ didn’t _ want to be the one to do it and your father insisted. It never was, and it never will be. Your being born isn’t something you did wrong, Adam, and it’s nothing to feel guilty over.”

Crowley kept her eyes on the road for a while after that, slowly looping them back to where she had set off from. 

Tears welled in her eyes, spilled past her black sunglasses as she blinked. 

She glanced over at Adam’s pondering profile. 

He  _ did _ look like her, a bit. He had blond hair and blue eyes, but he had the same shaped nose as her, the same sharp cheekbones. 

"Are you really proud of me?" Adam asked quietly, looking back over at her. “You don’t have to be, Crowley. You don’t have to tell me that you are if you aren’t, I understand-”

"I don't think I could be any prouder,” Crowley said honestly. 

Underneath his unchildlike intellect and understanding, Adam was still an eleven year old boy who hadn’t even  _ really _ known he was adopted until recently, and he needed to hear some reassurance. He couldn’t  _ be _ Crowley’s support, he was just a  _ child. _

Crowley needed to step up, even if it was just this once, and be his  _ mother. _ And make sure  _ he  _ was okay. He was just a  _ child, _ this was too much for him, it couldn’t be  _ more _ clear. “Adam… how are you feeling?” She asked, voice catching ever-so-slightly. 

“What do you mean, Crowley?” Adam asked. 

“This is a lot for you, too. A lot for you to take in and handle. How are  _ you _ feeling about all of this?” 

Adam waited a long time to open his mouth. “My mum taught me about consent and doing things right the moment she thought I was old enough, Crowley,” he said, biting his lip. “This… this wasn’t  _ right, _ it couldn’t be more obvious. My father was horrible to you, he hurt you and abused you and I  _ saw _ him threaten you, and  _ that’s _ what I came from, Crowley.” 

Crowley shook her head. “You banished that, remember?” She said softly. “You’re not Lucifer’s son, not anymore. Your parents, your  _ real _ parents are so in love and so desperately wanted a child, and you were brought into the world with  _ love _ because of them. My pain isn’t on you, Adam, it never was.” 


	32. Chapter 32

“Anathema how do I make him understand that I don’t  _ care _ whose fault it was?” Crowley asked, picking at her glossy black nail polish while nursing what she was  _ claiming _ was only her second drink, but if she had  _ miraculously _ poured a few more than that when Anathema’s attention wandered, that was her business. “I don’t  _ care _ if I’m to blame or not. It happened no matter  _ who’s _ to blame, why should it matter? Why does it matter so much to him?” 

Anathema took a long sip of her margarita. “I think  _ he _ feels like it’s important, AJ. Have you tried telling him that it’s not?”

Crowley sniffled. “He doesn’t  _ get it,  _ Ana. I don’t wanna talk about whose fault it is, or listen to his ten thousand reasons why I should absolve myself.” 

She looked down when tears gathered in her eyelashes, but Anathema saw them anyway. She set her drink on the table and moved to sit beside the demon who was trying not to cry in the sitting room of Jasmine Cottage, rather than across from her, offered her a hug with Crowley readily accepted.  _ “Why _ does it bother you that he wants your absolution? That he wants you not to blame yourself?”

“If that’s what he wants, what happens if I  _ am _ to blame, Ana?” Crowley asked, not looking up from where she had hidden her face in the shoulder of Anathema’s lacy shirt. “If he  _ wants _ me to be guiltless then how will he feel if I’m  _ not? _ If it’s  _ so important _ to him that I didn’t cause this? What if I’m not the blameless  _ victim _ of this all?”

Anathema heard the question Crowley  _ wasn’t _ asking. 

If she had a part in this, if she  _ was _ equally to blame as Lucifer, would Aziraphale still be trying to help her? Or would he give up on her, resent her the way he resented the devil? 

“AJ, do you  _ really _ think Aziraphale would turn his back on you, no matter  _ what _ part you played in what happened?” Anathema asked, very quietly, running a hand along her back. 

“If he wouldn’t, why would it be so damned important to him that he proves I’m not to blame?” Crowley tried to make it sound like a demand, but it came out as a sob. “I  _ didn’t _ tell him no, Ana, Hell, I didn’t even say nothing. You know what I told him?” Crowley asked, didn’t wait for a response before she spat the words out.  _ “I would be honoured.  _ That’s what I said to the being Zira’s trying to say raped me. Does that sound like  _ “no, don’t” _ to you?” 

Anathema didn’t say anything, which was probably for the best. Crowley didn’t need answers, she didn’t need someone to tell her if she was right or wrong, she needed someone to  _ listen  _ to her fears. 

No one else could  _ do  _ that right now. Or, at least, no one else  _ would.  _ Aziraphale was so busy trying to make everything  _ better _ that he didn’t understand how to do that, and Crowley had repeatedly scoffed at Anathema when she suggested seeing a counsellor. 

“Who am I supposed to tell that I’m the unwilling mother of the Antichrist?” was always her response to the pushing, and Anathema couldn’t seem to convince her that she could leave the supernatural details out. Plenty of people were abused, sexually and reproductively, and there were people who would be able to help. 

Crowley rebuffed her every time, so Anathema did her best to do what the demon needed until she would agree to see a professional. It wasn’t her place to push the issue, but she did wish she knew someone whose place it  _ was. _

Crowley needed more than just Anathema and Aziraphale, it was clear. 

But it was  _ also _ clear that Crowley didn’t  _ want _ anyone else. Even though she was coming face to face with both the angel and the witch’s shortcomings on this topic, she didn’t  _ want _ to branch out and trust someone else.

She had already struggled to put her faith in people. She  _ hadn’t _ wanted to tell Aziraphale, he’d found out. She hadn’t  _ planned _ on telling Anathema until the witch showed up at the bookshop one day. 

“I just don’t want to hear about it anymore, Ana. I just don’t  _ care _ anymore, it hurts to think about it and I don’t know why he thinks it helps for him to constantly tell me he doesn’t blame me, it  _ doesn’t _ help anything. I don’t care if  _ he _ blames me. He has nothing to blame me for, nothing happened to him.” 

Anathema sighed. “AJ, you need to tell him this. He’s trying to look after you, he doesn’t know what’s best for you and if he’s hurting you then you need to tell him. He’ll never forgive himself if you let him keep doing this.” 

"I hurt him too, why shouldn't he hurt me? Why should I be protected when I didn't protect him? I hurt him and I didn't even do anything, why shouldn't he be allowed to hurt me?"

"How did you hurt him without doing anything, AJ?"

"I was ready to sacrifice his happiness for mine and now he knows period I was willing to sacrifice everything he held here for my own protection. Adam's father said if I could Fall the angel, he would never put another finger on me. And I hurt us both by thinking that I could. I hurt us both by imagining that I could really take something that important from him to save myself."

Anathema was quiet for a long moment. She needed time to process, to think of something to say. It wasn't that what she had heard was too appalling for her to contemplate, on the contrary, she thought that it was perfectly natural Crowley had considered such an option.

But clearly neither the serpent nor the angel thought the same way. Crowley was holding herself to some kind of impossible standard where she had wronged the angel just by thinking about making that deal. "Did you ever actually try anything?" Anathema asked, the question she deemed rational, in a calm voice.

"The bookshop burned before I got the chance, and I realized that I couldn't. I couldn't have done it, everything was on the line and I couldn't have done it. I'd have let myself suffer for six thousand more years and six thousand more after that and until everything ceased, but I couldn't have done that."

"Well then what do you really think you did wrong? You were offered an option, you considered it, and then you turned it down. You didn't do anything wrong, and I'm sure Aziraphale will see that with time. You likely just surprised him, it was a fate he had probably never considered, or had considered that you might be out for too many times in his lifetime. He'll realize he's being irrational, he will. And until he does, you can stay here, and I'll keep pretending I don't know that's your fifth margarita, not your second, and you can tell me anything that you need to. Anything you want to. I promise I'll never judge you."

Crowley sniffled, reached a hand up to wipe at her eye, smearing eyeliner across the side of her face. Anathema didn't say anything about it, she didn't doubt that the makeup was going to get worse over the course of the night. "But what if it feels like I did something wrong, Anathema?" She asked, voice almost too quiet to be heard from where she had her face muffled against Anathema's shirt. 

“Our thoughts can deceive us, AJ. It doesn’t sound to  _ me _ that you did anything wrong. You contemplated all your options, and I imagine you, as a demon, know that’s not a sin. The actions we take define us, not what we consider doing when we’re desperate.Tempting can be a thought, but someone has to  _ act _ on it for it to be a sin. You’re guiltless, on this count. Both you and Aziraphale know that, deep down. Give your angel some time to process what you told him, and things will work out. He’ll see the truth, too. He’s good for you, Crowley, and he wants to help you. Once he gets a chance to think about what the deal  _ really _ was, he’ll understand why you considered it, he’ll understand why it seemed rational to you.”

“Every demon has survived a Fall, Anathema. It’s  _ hard, _ but it’s what we all did to survive. I won’t lie, it was  _ terrible _ but we lived through it, we adjusted. I- I didn't know if I could  _ survive _ an eternity of what was happening. That’s the one reason I considered it, Ana, I thought  _ maybe _ I could convince myself a Fall wasn’t as bad as what would happen to me, that  _ maybe _ Aziraphale would forgive me for that decision if he understood the stakes-” 

“And he will, Crowley. You just need to give him time, and he’ll understand the position you were in. You made a  _ difficult _ decision, and sure, you  _ considered _ the more selfish answer, but you decided against it. You didn’t act on it, you were  _ ready _ to hurt for the rest of eternity to not hurt your angel. That’s an incredible sacrifice,” Anathema said gently, “more selfless than most humans  _ know _ how to be.” 

“I knew how much it would hurt him,” Crowley said, shifting just a little, sniffled. “I  _ know _ what it’s like to Fall, Ana, and I didn’t  _ care _ when it happened to me. I didn’t know the consequences, I hadn’t spent millennia contemplating the threat. I worked with the others, we revolted  _ together _ with  _ intention. _ In the end, I asked more questions than I did anything  _ wrong, _ but I  _ listened _ to Lucifer because he wanted to give us answers. We weren’t prepared for what happened, the war, the Fall, but in a way that  _ helped _ us. We didn’t know what to fear, didn’t spend time agonizing about what  _ might _ happen to us, the worst had already come to pass. Angels don’t have that luxury, Ana, they watched the Fall from their place in Heaven and have known the threat was over their heads since it happened and I don’t think the Fall was  _ worse _ than the last twelve years but for an angel… it would be the worst thing imaginable.”

“You made  _ your _ choice selflessly, AJ. I think if he was given the chance, if he _ really _ considered all the alternatives, Aziraphale would have too. He’s angry because you were ready not to  _ give _ him the choice, but I’m sure if he thinks about it he’ll realize you were  _ right. _ He’ll realize that he would have rather Fell and been with you, kept you safe and happy, than he would have been destroyed in the Apocalypse in just the beginning of your eternal torment,” Anathema murmured. 

She held onto Crowley until the demon started to pull away, then gave her lots of space to get back. “You’re both working through a lot right now, Crowley, and it can be easy to forget what someone else is going through in the face of your own suffering. Neither one of your feelings are more important than the other’s right now, and you’re going to need to listen to each other. Right now, Aziraphale probably thinks what  _ you’re _ going through is more important than what it does to him, and that’s not healthy, either. You both need to talk and communicate with each other, and you  _ both _ need to be there for each other. I  _ know _ you’re the one who’s hurting, AJ, I really do. And I’ll  _ always _ be here for you to talk to about it. Sometimes Aziraphale is going to falter, like he did the other day, and you  _ both _ have to work together to get passed something like that. Do you understand?” 

Crowley took a moment, but she nodded, sipped her drink. 

“Now, I think I’m going to put the booze away, because you’ve had more than enough and I’m worried about you, and we’re going to do whatever  _ you _ need to do right now.”

“I’m a demon, Ana, it takes a fair bit more to get  _ me  _ drunk than it does a human,” Crowley scoffed, taking another sip of her drink. 

“I know it does, but I can’t think of the last time I saw you  _ without _ a drink in your hand, and that’s not healthy, Crowley, not even for you. Let me clean up, we’ll sit here and watch a movie or something, or we can talk about whatever you want to, but I don’t want you having another drink, okay?” Anathema said gently, watching Crowley’s face intently for their reaction.

“Alright, alright, you’ve made your point,” Crowley swallowed down the last of the sour lime-and-tequila mix she was drinking and placed her glass back on the table. Anathema walked the glasses and bottle back into the kitchen. 

Crowley just leaned against the armrest of the chair. ‘I went and saw Adam,” she said when her host walked back into the sitting room. “Just before I came here.”

Anathema looked surprised. “Adam Young?” 

“Which other Adam would  _ I _ have cause to go see, Anathema? I’m not welcome in Hell, it’s not like I can pop in and talk to Adam and Eve. Besides, we only get those two on the weekends. Something about  _ no chance of salvation _ and that kind of bullshit meant Hell couldn’t put full claim on them,” Crowley replied, smirking. “Eve doesn’t really have much to say to me. I  _ tried _ to help her after what happened in the garden, but what I did to her is…  _ truly _ unforgivable. Thrown from Eden, pain in childbirth-” which Crowley knew too well, “pain and sufferance and that blasted curse of Eve.”

“I do mean to give you a smack for being the origin of periods when you’re feeling considerably less down on yourself,” Anathema agreed, and Crowley actually  _ snorted _ at that. 

“They’re a right pain in the arse, aren’t they?”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve worn a female shape throughout history almost as often as a male. You didn’t think I  _ exempted _ myself from something that was my fault, did you?”

Anathema stared at her for a moment. “You have your period, when you’re in a female form, just to atone for what you did six thousand years ago?” 

“Wouldn’t be right if I didn’t. Maybe  _ that’s _ the reason why something that  _ shouldn’t _ have worked did work. There’s no other documented case of a demon becoming pregnant. The Nephilim had human mothers, it was believed our biology wasn’t compatible with it. Maybe for an  _ ordinary _ demon it’s not. Maybe I should have  _ known _ that and I could have spared myself a lot of trouble and-”

Anathema cut her off before she could go too far down that road, knowing it only led to trouble at the moment. She didn’t want Crowley having  _ another _ reason to blame herself. “So you spoke to Adam. How was that?” 

Crowley took a deep breath. “Honestly? It wasn’t so bad.” 

Anathema smiled. “Well, there you have it. Some good news for the day. You could use some.” 


	33. Chapter 33

“It’s not fair if I don’t want to talk about it, is it, Zira,” Crowley said quietly, their cheek pressed against the angel’s chest. “But I really don’t want to talk about it, Zira, I know it wasn’t fair but I did what I thought I had to do to survive-”

“I know, love. You were trying to protect yourself from further abuse. I can’t blame you for that, as angry as it made me to think about you making that call for me. We do need to talk about it, true, but if you want to wait, I can’t blame you for that. You seem to have had a rough couple of days, my love,” Aziraphale replied, pressed a kiss to the top of their head. “It can wait, as long as you’re aware that we will discuss this in good time.”

Crowley snuggled in a little closer to Aziraphale’s chest, closed their eyes. Aziraphale ran a hand through their hair, gazing down lovingly at the half-asleep demon.

“Why do you stare at me like that?” Crowley asked, tipping their head up to look up at the angel. 

“Because you’re breathtaking,” Aziraphale said simply, brushing some hair out of their face “Absolutely stunning. Look at you, lovely fine bones, such pretty eyes-”

“Snake eyes.” 

Crowley spat the term like it was an insult. Probably because they had been taught that it was an insult, and Aziraphale immediately dropped the subject. Crowley didn’t have to like everything about themself, not right now. “And you’ve got such lovely hands, made for crafting stars,” Aziraphale continued, lifting Crowley fingers and pressing a kiss to their knuckles. After he rested Crowley’s hand back down, he drew his thumb along Crowley’s sharp cheekbones. “You’ve such fine features, such a lovely face. You’re a work of art, I can hardly believe God looked at you and dared create again.” 

Crowley’s look soured. “Said he picked me from the beginning.” 

Aziraphale had forgotten about that. “Well, my dear, work of art that you are, there’s more to you than fine features and a pretty face, I assure you. You and your sharp tongue, your secret kindness, the way you’ve never once not somehow appeared at my side well I needed you most. Have I told you how honoured I am that you’ve let me stay beside you, Crowley? How absolutely awed I am? How strong and resilient you are? I don’t think I would want to be anywhere near myself right now, I’m honoured just to be by your side. And please, love, don’t ever hesitate to tell me you need me to go. Don’t ever worry about hurting me, I want to do everything you need me to, my darling.”

Crowley ducked their face away from Aziraphale as the angel spoke, cheeks flushing a soft pink. 

They didn’t look up for a while, Aziraphale let them sit in silence, stroking his thumb up and down Crowley’s spine, feeling muscles slowly relax under his fingers.

“Can I preen your wings?” Crowley asked suddenly, lifting their head off of Aziraphale’s chest. 

Aziraphale blinked. 

Crowley had never asked to do that before. It wasn’t something that people just asked to do, or did, but it wasn’t like they hadn’t tried to cross other similar lines before. 

"Of course, darling," Aziraphale agreed, spread his white wings out behind him and shifted so that Crowley could reach them properly. 

"Would it be alright if I asked to see yours, love? You don't have to agree, and you certainly don't have to let me touch them, I just would like to see them, if you're amenable." 

Crowley contemplated that while setting to work straightening Aziraphale's crooked feathers, fingers light and gentle and almost reverent. The angel didn't push the issue, let Crowley think about it while they worked. 

If Crowley never answered, Aziraphale would take the response to be no, and not press the issue. 

He had figured that was the case when Crowley surprised him and unfurled night-black wings. "Please don't touch. Just-"

"You don't have to explain yourself to me, Crowley. Thank you for trusting me this much," Aziraphale said softly. 

Crowley's wings were a masterpiece. They looked pure black to the untrained eye, dark as the void, but Aziraphale had long since noticed the celestial bodies strewn across their feathers. Constellations and planets and whole other galaxies sparkled amongst Crowley's plumage, just barely there. 

They reminded Aziraphale of Crowley's freckles. He had often wondered if the two were related, but had never asked, not wanting to stir up painful memories. 

When Crowley tugged a little too hard on a soft white feather to set it back into place, and Aziraphale struggled not to show the pain on his face, it occurred to him just how sensitive their wings were. 

"Will you forgive me asking… did he… ever… your wings-"

"No. Didn't much have an interest in feathers. He just wanted sex, angel, for the most part," Crowley replied, shockingly calm. "It's just… it's just that it's a lot to think about someone's hands- anyone's hands-"

"I didn't mean to make you feel like you owed me an explanation for why you asked me not to touch your wings, Crowley. I just… It occured to me and I couldn't get the thought out of my head. On top of everything else, it was too horrible to imagine."

Crowley didn't say anything, Aziraphale was sort of grateful for that. They just kept slowly sorting through Aziraphale's feathers, combing their fingers gently through the fluffy white plumage. 

He knew it was ridiculous, for himself to draw a line at Crowley's wings when he already knew the extent of what had happened far surpassed feathers. 

"Was your talk with Anathema helpful, love?" Aziraphale asked. 

"Didn't just talk to Anathema." 

Aziraphale almost asked who Crowley would have spoken to in Tadfield besides just Anathema.

Almost. It occurred to him just before the words passed his lips. "And how is Adam?" 

Crowley had no reason to go to anyone but Anathema or Adam. Aziraphale was surprised Crowley had gone to the Antichrist, even more surprised that they had gone alone, but it was the only answer that made sense. 

"He blames himself. I can tell," Crowley said, with a disappointed sigh. "And it's my fault he does. He's too young to know the things he knows. I tried to tell him he has nothing to do with it but I don't think he believed me."

Aziraphale reached out and gently laid his hand over Crowley's, stopping the demon just shy of where their fingers were seeking the angel's oil gland to really smooth the feathers down and get them looking nice and feeling functional again. "It's a good thing you did for him, Crowley. I know it can't have been easy, talking to him or telling him it wasn't his fault but-"

"It's never been his fault, angel," Crowley said, staring plainly up at Aziraphale, yellow eyes hidden completely by their black sunglasses. "Never. I never once thought it was his fault. From the second I knew he was there, I didn't want him but I knew he wasn't to blame. He didn't ask to be born." 

Aziraphale pressed a kiss to Crowley's temple. "And it's big of you to realize that, my love. And it's good of you to tell him that. He needed to hear it, and I really do think he needed to hear it from you. He’s not your responsibility, but I think you’re the only one who could convince him of that, after all that’s happened.” 

“I know that, Zira. I know I’m the only one who can convince him, that’s why I went. He thinks his existence is something horrible. I know how that feels.”

Aziraphale frowned. “Why do you know that, love?”

“I’m a demon, Aziraphale. I think at some point we all knew what it’s like to think of our existence as something monstrous. It’s just that some of us forgot what that felt like the longer we were in Hell. But not me. I had you.”

Aziraphale swallowed hard. “What do you mean, Crowley? Please- I never meant to-”

Crowley shook their head. “Just being around you reminded me,” they said softly, “you didn’t help at first, I won't lie-"

Aziraphale fought to keep his expression neutral. It wasn't being called out that upset him, it was the fact it was true.

"But you aren't the reason I felt that way. It's just that there you were, with all your angelic grace and holy light and I remembered that was what I was supposed to be. That what I was wasn't supposed to exist. God didn't want to make us. We're the only creatures in the entire universe the Almighty didn't want to create, angel. We're the only things in all of creation not meant to exist. Do you know how lonely that is? How monstrous that makes you feel? That's why I never forgot the feeling. You being around put it in perspective, time and time again. We caused the Fall. We did this. It's our own faults and-"

"I don't care if the Almighty wanted you to exist, Crowley, in this form or your previous. I know the world is a better place with you just the way you are. I know you're perfect no matter what Her plans were for you. You made yourself, Crowley, picked yourself up out of the ashes of the Fall and built yourself into someone you wanted to be. Who cares if the Almighty would have wanted it to be so? If She wanted to control you, She should have kept you. You're so free, darling, I've always admired it. You are unapologetically, entirely who you want to be."

Crowley's hands were shaking. Aziraphale could feel them trembling against his snow-white feathers. "And She didn't make you, Crowley. You made you. Exactly the way you wanted to be. I'm so proud of you, Crowley. You've been through so much, my love," Aziraphale murmured, brushing his hand against the side of Crowley's face. "I love you so much, Crowley, and I'm so proud of you. You've come so far on your own, my love, but you don't have to be alone anymore. I'm going to be here all the rest of the while with you, and you never have to do this alone ever again." 

Crowley stopped sorting through Aziraphale's feathers, sat still with shaking hands for a moment before throwing their arms around the angel. "I'm sorry, angel," they said softly. "I am sorry I thought about- I'm so- I- I a-"

"Shhh," Aziraphale breathed, cutting off Crowley's stammering. "You don't owe me an explanation. Not right now. I- I think I understand why, Crowley. I understand the logic you used. I know why you would have considered what you did, I don't blame you, Crowley, I don't. I thought I did, but I don't. This… this was worse than Falling, wasn't it?" 

Crowley nodded, buried their face into Aziraphale's shoulder, trying unsuccessfully not to sob into the angel's soft cream coat. "I'm sorry, angel, I'm so sorry…" 

Crowley sobbed, unable to hold it back, and Aziraphale pulled them close, pressed kisses to Crowley's cheek and temple. "I forgive you, my love. Crowley, I forgive you." 

He didn't really think that he needed to forgive Crowley, not after he really considered it. Crowley had been scared for their life, for their survival and sanity, and Aziraphale couldn't blame them for it. 

And even then, they hadn't managed to go through with it. In the worst circumstances Aziraphale could think of, and Crowley hadn't managed to bring themself to do it. They had decided that Aziraphale meant more than their own guarantee of safety, of never being hurt again. 

The angel held Crowley as tightly as he dared, let the demon sob into his shoulder. 

"Crowley, I'm the one who should apologize, darling. I overreacted. You were faced with the choice of freeing yourself and betraying me or remaining how you were, and even when you thought you could do it, you didn't betray me. I never should have been hurt by your confession, darling. You chose me, and now it's my turn to choose you. You haven't done anything wrong. You acted more selflessly than anyone else I know, more selflessly than I could truly ask of you, or expect of you."

"I'll always choose you," Crowley said softly, not lifting their head from where they had their face buried in Aziraphale's shoulder. "No matter what, I'll always choose you. It took me until the bookshop burned to realize but nothing is more important to me than you. You're everything, angel."

Aziraphale tried to swallow what he had just been told without tears of his own, but he failed drastically. "I love you so much, Crowley. I'm sorry I let you go through so much. I'm sorry I wasn't brave enough to be there for you, to tell you this ages ago. I should have told you in the church, or when you offered me a ride home in Soho, I wish I had been brave like you. And brave for you." 

"I got by without you then, Aziraphale. S'long as I have you now, that's all I need. Just- just don't leave me. I don't think-"

"Perish the thought, darling Crowley. I'd follow you to the ends of the Earth and back again. Unless you want me to, I'll never leave your side so long as we both shall live. You never have to be alone again. I don't know if I'll ever forgive myself for leaving you alone in the first place," Aziraphale murmured.

There was truth the angel hadn't wanted to face behind his words. 

How could he forgive the fact that he left Crowley to handle the last twelve years alone? He'd rebuffed them time and time again, refused their frightened, self-preserving pleas, and in every case, Crowley had stuck beside Aziraphale, no matter his decision.

Time and time again, they begged him for an out. For him to kill the Antichrist, to run to Alpha Centauri with them, and time and time again Aziraphale had said no, never once taking note of the desperation soaking Crowley's voice. 

They had been terrified, looking to escape any way their could and pleading with their only friend in the world to help them, and Aziraphale had refused. 

"I don't blame you, Zira. I knew from the start I had to do it on my own. Just like you offered to come with me to see Adam but I knew the first time I went I had to go by myself. I- I need you to help me be strong, angel, but sometimes the only way to do what need be done is to be weak. Lucifer didn't want me to be strong. Adam didn't need me to be strong, not the way it seems. He didn't need to see me with you, where I feel safe and strong and whole. He's broken, angel, and I had to show him that I was too."

"Will you let me go with you if you go back again?"

"I think Adam could do with a guardian angel," was Crowley's sly reply. 


	34. Chapter 34

Crowley let his hair grow back gradually. 

He liked the way the barber had cut and styled it after he had hacked away his curls, but after the apocalypse didn’t happen he slowly got more reclusive, staying at Aziraphale’s bookshop and not going out much. 

By consequence, his hair got longer, and he gave up on stopping it. He’d had long hair for almost his entire existence, in some way or another, and he always had liked tressing his red curls. 

He liked braiding his hair, he liked playing around with how long it was, curling it up in different updos and fashions. He’d like the way humanity’s interest in hair had changed over the years, although he wasn’t a fan of the big powdered wigs they’d sported wasn’t his thing. 

So he let it grow out, fall back in loose curls and stop around his shoulders. He didn’t say anything about it, hoped Zira wouldn’t say anything about it either. 

He just wanted to let things go back to normal. He had hacked it away with purpose, but it wasn’t something he was ready to give up forever.

So long as no one said anything about them, they could stay long and flowing and sometimes, when he played with a curling iron for a little longer than normal, bouncing around his chin. 

Crowley didn’t always want to be called pretty. The feeling came and went, but he knew he found his curls pretty, and it didn’t bother him. They were exempt when he did his best to avoid the word “pretty.”

He hadn’t done much with them today, hadn’t even really brushed them, just let them hang loose and wild as he went about his day. 

Later that evening he planned to take a long bath; a bath was always good for lowering the mounting anxiety he was acutely aware was building in his chest. 

It was waiting to spill over at the slightest provocation, but it wasn’t enough to actually cause any upset on its own. Just left him uncomfortable and aware that if anything went wrong, it would all be over for him. 

He considered asking Aziraphale to leave, to see if that would help, but he really didn’t think that being alone was going to help. 

So he wandered aimlessly around the bookshop, tending to his plants, helping Aziraphale shelve the new additions to his collection. 

And finally, after a dinner he didn't partake in so much as he pushed food around his plate and fed Aziraphale bites to make it look like he had eaten, he went and took a bath. 

The hot water soothed the tension in his chest a little, but not enough to last. Crowley got out before the water was cold, dried off, got dressed in soft pyjamas and went to sit down beside Aziraphale, who was reading a book on their bed. 

Aziraphale looked up as he walked in. "Welcome back, love. Do you feel any better?" 

Crowley didn't answer, just flipped down beside the angel. 

"I've always loved your curls," Aziraphale remarked with a sappy smile, drawing his fingers gently through them. "I missed them whenever you cut them short, all your long red curls and braids and everything. I always wanted to touch it, play with it."

Long curls and straight-laced nanny act.

Crowley jerked away from Aziraphale, the angel’s fingers caught on the wet tangles of his messy red curls, which only made more panic bubble up in his throat. “Let go! Zira, let me go!” He cried, pushing against Aziraphale’s shoulders to try and pull the angel’s fingers out of his hair, but instead he felt something metallic scrape his skull and abruptly stop moving. 

Aziraphale stopped letting himself be pushed away as soon as the scraping at his skull turned to a sharp, painful tug on his hair. 

“Aziraphale!” Crowley shoved him harder, Aziraphale’s fingers dragged him along with the harsh shove. 

“Crowley, dear, I need you to relax,” Aziraphale said, very calmly, although his voice held a tight tone. 

“Let me go!” Crowley tried to jerk away, which only pulled worse and made him panic more. All at once it was Lucifer pulling his hair again, jerking his head back and forcing him to stare up into those hauntingly familiar eyes as the devil abused his corporation, taking his own pleasure however he had to. 

“Crowley, please, I need you to calm down, my ring is caught in your hair,” Aziraphale said softly, “give me a moment to get it off my finger so you can untangle it, and I don’t have to touch you if you don’t want me to.” 

It was a very rational request, but Crowley was beyond rationality at the moment. He needed Aziraphale’s hand out of his hair now, he needed to be free, he needed to step away just to be able to breathe again and he couldn’t do that as long as Aziraphale’s ring and therefore hand was stuck in his hair. 

Abruptly, he reached a hand up, caught Aziraphale’s and pulled as hard as he could, ignoring the way it hurt and continued to hurt until something snapped and he managed to finally get Aziraphale’s hand away from his head. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale cried in surprise, and then his own hand was thrown back at his chest, a rather lot of red hair tangled around the ring he wore on his pinkie. 

Crowley didn’t give him a moment to continue talking, to berate him, to comfort him, anything. He slid off the bed and made for the door, not pausing a moment as Aziraphale called his name again. 

His scalp stung where he’d pulled a small patch of red hair out, but Aziraphale’s hand was out of his hair and that was the important part. His chest wasn’t loosening up yet, it was still hard to breathe, but the threat was gone, he just had to deal with the aftermath. 

He managed to slam the door to the bathroom and collapse into the empty bathtub before he really couldn’t breathe at all, he gasped and choked for air but no matter how much he got his lungs wouldn’t fill, it wasn’t enough with the way his chest closed up. 

The memories that some days ran on loop through his head weren’t even playing anymore, it was just the idea of them that kept him shaking in the tub. 

They didn’t need to run through his head. Just knowing they were there, just remembering their very existence was enough.

He couldn’t breathe at all, couldn’t force air into his chest, but he couldn’t exhale, either. Pressure built in his chest and he started to sob, the only way he could get the pressure out, the only way the world seemed to halt while it fell down around him. 

He buried his face in his knees, dug both hands into his hair, not pulling, but holding onto it as though it could ground him. 

He wasn't sure how long he sat there, sobbing into his knees, fairly able to fill his lungs with air as he gasped. He heard Aziraphale knock on the door, several times in fact, call his name, but he never moved to open the door, never called to let him enter.

The truth was, he didn't want the angel to come in. As time went on and he managed to calm down he knew that Aziraphale had not meant him any harm, was probably just stunned at his reaction and worried about him. 

But he just couldn't make himself open the door. He just couldn't make himself address the angel, not with the flood of memories threatening to make him sick.

So he stayed in the bathtub, for long enough that his tears dried and seemed to run out even as he continued to sob, that his knees were cramped and his back ached from being folded, even with his serpentine spine.

He finally stood, mouth try certainly not relaxed but too exhausted to cry anymore. He walked over to the bathroom cabinet

They were celestial beings. Or, occult as Crowley preferred to call them. They didn't need things like pain relief, cough medicine, or anything along the lines. Their bathroom cabinet was not full of medication. 

they're bathroom cabinet was mostly used to keep all of the various collections of things they had each decided to be kept in a bathroom off the counter. Aziraphale had his aftershave in there, Crowley had various hair styling gels and creams.

And in the back, because it was bulky and large and not used often, there was an electric clipper.

That was what Crowley pulled out of the cabinet. He opened the case, plugged the clippers into the wall, and took out the small pair of scissors.

With the scissors, be carefully cut each section of his hair down short enough to be shaved. He didn't want it catching in the clippers. Red hair filled the sink, all of the curls he had been so happy with just that morning. He could barely even look at them now as he cut them away.

He kept the clippers on its highest setting, he'd buzzed his hair once and he hadn't liked the results, and ran it through the first pass over his head.

It scratched an uncomfortable sort of internal itch, as well as a physical one. It felt good to run the clippers over his scalp to shed the curls that worried him so much, that for so little could set him off. He knew he loved his curls deep down, but he also knew he couldn't handle them right now

And so they had to go.

when he was through, his hair wasn't shorter than it had been when he'd gone to the barber, but it certainly wasn't longer either. And immediate sense of comfort washed over him.

It wasn't curled falling loose around his shoulders, like it had when he had first fallen like it had when Lucifer had yanked on it and called him a whore for it, like it had when Aziraphale's ring had gotten caught in it that evening.

And that was exactly what he needed. When he was through, he snapped his fingers and the red hair disappeared from the sink and the floor, he put the clippers back in the box and then back into the cabinet, back into the sitting area behind the bookshop, where he and the angel had spent many a night drinking until the break of dawn.

He set new record full of old songs on the gramophone, and laid down on the couch he was already very accustomed to sleeping on from years spent in the shop.

And finally, weary and exhausted, he fell asleep, too tired even to dream.

Aziraphale awoke to an empty bed, Crowley's side completely cold. He wasn't entirely surprised, but it was sad. 

He wasn't sad because he was lonely, although he was, it was something we could easily put behind him because Crowley needed him to, he was sad because it meant Crowley had spent the night by himself.

Aziraphale just hoped he hadn't left the bookshop. It was well within the Demon's rights to leave, after what happened and any night at all, but Aziraphale hoped to be able to find him. he wanted to apologize.

He stepped out of the bedroom, headed down the spiral staircase. There was only the bathroom in an office upstairs, and he doubted that was still where Crowley was hiding.

When he got down the stairs, it was clear that Crowley had slept on the couch, which almost made him more sad than if the demon had just left to go to a friend, or somewhere he felt safe. The gramophone was clicking, at the end of a record, and Aziraphale went to shut it off. 

He knew the record, although it was newly added to his collection. It had a selection of classical music that was agreeable to the angel, but the first song on it was the important one. 

After all, the record didn't belong to him. It was Crowley record, and the first song on it was one that Aziraphale knew to be Crowley's favorite. The one he would listen to secretly, when he would pretend that he was going home to play Queen as loud as he could but would sit with only this song playing for hours.

Beethoven's Silence. If Crowley would admit to liking this piece as much as he did, he would probably make a terrible joke about "sitting in silence."

Crowley had never told Aziraphale it was his favourite, but Aziraphale just knew. The same way Crowley could tell which pastries Aziraphale prefered in a bakery, or knew which books were most precious to him, Aziraphale just knew.

Rather than shutting off the gramophone, Aziraphale set the record back, let the first notes echo through the bookshop. 

He heard a noise in the kitchen, and stepped in. 

He found Crowley in the kitchen, busying himself stirring something that smelled amazing around in a frying pan, which Crowley was probably not going to eat himself. 

His hair was short again. Far shorter than last night, no longer curled at all, back to how it had been after he stopped being Warlock's nanny. 

Aziraphale's heart sank. 

Aziraphale wasn't dismayed that Crowley cut his hair, that was up to the demon. 

He was dismayed that he might have caused it. 

"Darling," he began, voice soft and tentative. "I made you uncomfortable last night. Even before my ring got caught, I upset you." 

Crowley didn't acknowledge him, continued rifling through the kitchen cabinets. 

"You don't have to tell me why, but would you tell me what I did wrong so I won't do it again?"

Crowley didn't look up, but he finally did speak. "Cut it the first time b'cause of somethin' he said," he muttered, "after he paid Nanny Ashtoreth a visit."

"I won't bring it up again, Crowley, I promise. Short, long, somewhere in the middle, I won't say a word unless you ask me what I think. There's plenty more to compliment you on than your hair, I'll choose others, dear. I'm sorry."

"Didn't know," Crowley said stiffly. 

"How do you like your hair?" 

"Depends. After what he said I wanted to get rid of it entirely," Crowley admitted, going back to stirring the pan around. "I like it long but- I don't want it long right now."

Aziraphale nodded. That was understandable. 

He walked up beside Crowley, who pulled his gaze away from the eggs and sausage and peppers and cheese he was stirring around in the pan to look at the angel. 

"I love you more than anything, Crowley. Anything in all of creation. Please, don't let me hurt you like that again."

Crowley didn't reply. He just flipped the egg-mix over. "I've made you an omelette," he mentioned. 

"Crowley, please." 

The serpent sighed. "I don't want to talk about it. How can I make you that promise when I'm not ready to talk about it, I don't know if I ever will be? How could I possibly warn you when I'm not going to talk about it?" 

"Crowley-"

"Enough!" 

Crowley dropped the metal spatula he was using onto the stovetop with a clang. "Enough, angel. Stop pushing me."

"But-"

"And finish your own damn omelette."

Crowley walked out of the kitchen. 


	35. Chapter 35

“You need to tell me, Crowley. I  _ won’t _ let something like last night happen again, but you have to help me make sure it doesn’t. I  _ can’t  _ do this guessing game anymore. I have  _ no idea _ what’s going to upset you and  _ you won’t tell me. _ It has to change, Crowley, and you have to tell  _ someone.” _

“Did you seriously lure me into the sitting room with wine and ice-cream I don’t even like so you could trap me into answering questions I’ve  _ told _ you I’m not going to discuss, Aziraphale?”

Crowley pushed the strawberry ice-cream that was melting in the bowl Aziraphale had given him. 

“But you’re the one who  _ made _ everything strawberry-flavoured,” Aziraphale said, confused. 

“I made everything banana-flavoured, too, doesn’t mean I like the flavour. I only did it to piss people off because they can’t tell if they’re getting strawberry or cherry, angel,” Crowley replied, placing the bowl to the side, with no intention of eating it. 

“Crowley, stop being impossible. It’s been awhile since the airbase. I know you don’t  _ want _ to talk to me about it, but I think it’s time you told me the truth. I think- I think you might  _ owe _ me the truth, love. If you never tell me, how am I supposed to help you move past it?”

“I’ve told you everything I intend to tell you, angel,” Crowley replied, leaning back against the couch, spine arching back the way only his could as he folded over the arm. “In what way could I possibly  _ owe _ you anything? Because I’ve been living in the bookshop? Because I can move out, if that’s what you’re trying to say,” he continued, tone bordering on ice. 

Aziraphale looked agitated as he put his wine to the side. “You know that isn’t what I’m trying to say, Crowley. It’s just that… you’ve been  _ lying _ to me, love. You can’t tell me that’s not true, I know it is, some of your stories have changed six times since you first told them. That’s not  _ fair, _ love. I- I would  _ never _ lie to you. You  _ told _ me that you wouldn’t lie to  _ me! _ Was that a lie, too?”

Crowley chewed on his lip. 

Aziraphale had a  _ point. _ He  _ had _ said he wouldn’t lie to the angel, he had  _ promised _ Aziraphale that. 

But wasn’t lying  _ better _ than talking about something he wasn’t ready to discuss? That he didn’t think he would  _ ever _ be ready to discuss? 

“What is this about, Aziraphale? What is it you  _ so desperately _ need to know?” He asked, frowning. “Why is it that you  _ need _ all the gorey details of the last twelve years? Are you even sure you  _ want _ to hear them? And if you are, why don’t you ask yourself  _ why _ you want to know?”

Aziraphale’s face softened, he leaned in a little closer. “Of course I don’t  _ want _ to hear them, love. He  _ hurt _ you, over and over again, and it’s going to break my  _ heart _ to hear them. But… I think it’s important that I  _ do _ know, whether I want to or not.” 

Crowley sighed. "How many times do I have to tell you that I've told you the worst of it, Aziraphale?" 

"As many as it takes until that isn't a  _ lie,  _ Crowley. I know it's a lie, because I  _ know  _ he did more than look like me and get you pregnant. You  _ named  _ Adam for some reason, and you got hurt while you were pregnant! I  _ saw,  _ Crowley, you were so busy trying to make sure I  _ couldn't  _ tell you were pregnant that you forgot about your broken wrist. You've told me six different ways that  _ supposedly  _ happened, I need you to tell me the  _ truth  _ now."

"I  _ have,  _ Aziraphale!" Crowley snapped.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale cried. 

"What? What is it you want me to tell you, Aziraphale? What is it you need to hear before you stop asking, I'll tell you whatever you want to hear because clearly it doesn't matter what  _ really happened,  _ just what you think did!" 

"Crowley just tell me the truth! What happened that made it so you  _ won't  _ tell me that Lucifer beat you and broke your wrist?" Aziraphale replied, almost equally exasperated. “I know he did it! You can lie all you like, I  _ know _ he’s the one who did it!”

"Of bloody course he did!" Crowley snarled, sitting bolt upright and glaring Aziraphale down. "Of bloody course Lucifer did it, how else would it have happened? I told him to piss off one night instead of letting him do what he wanted, and he pinned me to the bed and attacked me. When I tried to stop him he twisted my wrist until he heard it snap. And that was  _ before  _ he even dropped his illusion and let me see who was  _ really  _ forcing himself on me, Aziraphale! You want to know why I named Adam? He put his hands around my throat and tried to choke the life out of me, angel, it was the only way I could get him to stop!" 

Crowley could feel those hands around his throat even now, cutting off his breathing. "I told him he couldn't kill me if he didn't want to kill the Antichrist and he  _ told me  _ he was fine with restarting, only he planned on keeping me chained in his goddamn office! He only let me live because I named him Adam to prove I  _ gave a damn.  _ And he  _ didn't  _ stop hitting me, he beat me and fucked me until I blacked out!" 

Aziraphale reeled back, blinking, but Crowley wasn't done. "Does that satisfy your curiosity or do you want me to tell you about how two days after Lucifer put his  _ spawn  _ in me Hastur sent me to tempt the American Diplomat and that's why I crashed my car? Or that when I wouldn't let you heal my ankle in your bookshop when I fell it was because I thought you would be able to tell I was pregnant? Or that you caught me after Hastur sent me to Scotland the day before I gave birth and you said you would  _ go for me if I told you why I was avoiding you _ , and because you were so damn stubborn I gave birth on the side of a motorway in the Bentley and almost  _ died _ after driving for an entire day while in labour, and then still had to drive Adam and I to the birthing hospital in Tadfield? Is that enough for you, or do you want me to tell you about what happened  _ after  _ I gave birth? Do you want to hear about  _ more _ than just the first ten months of the last twelve years?"

"Crowley-" 

"No, no, you wanted to know, now you  _ don't  _ get to stop me, Aziraphale. You  _ demanded  _ the truth, now you can have it. You get to know that Lucifer was back  _ three days  _ after I almost  _ died _ on the front steps of Tadfield Manor, and let me tell you he didn't have any  _ pure intentions  _ with me! You get to know that  _ he's  _ the one who made me play Nanny Ashtoreth, and that thanks to him, the first time  _ I  _ ever got someone's cock shoved down my throat I was trying to  _ stop him  _ from going any further, because it was still soon enough after I gave birth that sex felt more like getting knifed in the cunt! And it didn't even  _ fucking  _ work!"

Tears were streaming down his cheeks, but the words were flooding out and he couldn't stop talking, no matter how much he wanted to. 

"Crowley, please, take a breath-"

"Shut your  _ fucking  _ mouth, Aziraphale! Shut your  _ fucking mouth  _ and listen to what you've been harrassing me to tell you for  _ months!"  _ Crowley snarled, "I'm finally talking and that's what you wanted and now you're going to shut up and  _ listen!  _ Because I haven't even gotten to the best part! What about the time you looked me in the eye and told me that I was acting like I thought I was the Whore of Babylon? Did you forget that? Because I didn't have the luxury of forgetting about the time my only friend in the entire thrice-damned universe told me I was exactly what the monster who had snuck into my bedroom that night called me! I'd spent my morning trying to hide a black eye and a bleeding bite mark on my throat and  _ you  _ whirled around and told me that it wasn't the staff's fault for putting their hands on me if I was going to dress and act like a whore!" 

Crowley saw Aziraphale go to speak again, but he'd had enough. "Oh, God, I- oh, Lord, Crowley, I didn't know, dear God-"

"You leave your God out of this, Aziraphale! Your God made me to Fall and later be raped by Her favourite angel and made to have his child! Are you happy now, now that I've used the word? Your God made me to be raped and abused and She has no place in our home!" 

Crowley didn't give Aziraphale another chance to speak. He jumped to his feet and stormed up the stairs, slammed the door to their bedroom shut behind him and collapsed onto the bed, sobbing. 

It all had  _ happened.  _ Everything about that night. Everything Crowley had told himself for eleven years never happened, it had all happened. 

There was no defense there, no illusion of consent. He couldn't pretend that there had been any choice there. 

The one time Lucifer  _ hadn't  _ looked like Aziraphale. 

The one time Crowley  _ had  _ to admit that Lucifer had raped him. 

He had to say it that way. He couldn’t deny it, not on  _ that _ night. The night that wasn’t supposed to have happened, the night that had made Crowley wake up with mottled purple and blue bruises all around his throat, barely able to breathe at all. 

None of it was supposed to have been  _ real. _ He had been in control of the  _ whole situation _ the  _ entire time, _ that was how it was supposed to have gone. That was the only way it  _ could _ have gone. He  _ needed  _ to believe he’d always had a say. He needed to believe that he’d always had the chance to stop what was happening because if he hadn’t…

If he  _ hadn’t _ had the ability to stop it…

If he couldn’t have stopped it, which was  _ true _ that night, that night he had  _ tried _ , then he couldn’t pretend not to be what Aziraphale kept  _ telling _ him was true, he couldn’t pretend like he wasn’t some broken down and beaten  _ victim. _

He had to face it. 

He couldn’t keep hiding behind weak defenses and technicalities. He’d gotten no say. He’d had his own body stolen away from him, used to satisfy Lucifer’s wants and needs and it made him want to tear his skin from his bones, to pull the hair from his head and rend himself piece for piece until he could pretend to be something Lucifer had never touched, but it wasn’t that simple. 

He scratched at the inside of his forearm, which helped drag him back down to reality and out of his thoughts for a moment, but the feeling didn’t last and it didn’t  _ hurt _ less to be grounded. 

Even so, his nails kept worrying at the inside of his arm, flashes of pain as the skin grew more sensitive  _ sometimes _ enough to jolt Crowley out of his spiraling thoughts. 

He wasn’t  _ ready _ to be a victim. He needed some illusion of control, he needed to  _ believe _ he hadn’t had his every choice and action taken out of his hands, but that was  _ gone _ now. Aziraphale had taken it away, he  _ never _ knew when to quit. 

From the very beginning, he’d  _ known _ what this had been. He’d known from the moment Lucifer had pinned him up against the hard stone wall of his office what this was. 

But he hadn’t had to admit it to himself. He hadn’t had to  _ deal _ with that, he could  _ pretend _ to have retained his autonomy. 

But it wasn’t  _ true, _ was it? Lucifer had stolen it all from him. He was  _ always _ going to take what he wanted, whether or not he convinced Crowley to let him. If the illusion hadn’t worked, he would have done the same thing without it. 

Another  _ bright _ flash of hot pain startled Crowley back to himself. 

He looked down at his forearm and saw blood and tissue under his fingernails, and long, bleeding scrapes running along his skin, and  _ still _ he kept scratching, because it was  _ something _ other than all of this. It was  _ something _ that distracted him just enough to pull him back, away from the thoughts storming around his head, and he  _ needed _ that. 

He couldn’t scratch forever, of course. He shredded the flesh on his arm into a bloody mess, but  _ eventually _ his body made him stop scratching. 

That was when he heard the knocking. “Crowley?”

“Piss off!” He snarled, grabbing the first thing he got his hands on, his phone, which had slid out of his pocket, and hurling it at the door. 

It crashed into the wood, hit the floor and it was  _ obvious _ it was broken, the screen shattered, but he felt better after he had thrown it. 

Aziraphale didn’t go away. “Crowley, I’m  _ sorry.” _

“You’re  _ sorry?” _

That did it. Crowley stormed to the door, ripped it open, slamming it into the wall hard enough to leave the impression of the doorknob on the drywall behind it. Aziraphale looked  _ terrified _ to see how he was going to react. “You’re  _ sorry?” _ He repeated, spitting the words like they were venomous. “Oh, well that makes it all better then, doesn’t it?” He said, and a hysteric little laugh escaped his mouth. “Problem solved, all it forgiven, in that case!”

Even the angel didn’t mistake his tone for sincerity. He flinched backwards. “Crowley, I didn’t mean-”

“You couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you?” Crowley shouted, taking a step forward.    
Aziraphale took a step back. 

“You could just  _ drop it _ no matter how many times I told you do, could you, Aziraphale? You couldn’t take a fucking hint when I bloody well spelled it out for you! And now you’ve heard it! Are you  _ happy? _ You know  _ everything _ you’ve been pushing at me to tell you for months, are you  _ happy _ now?” 

Crowley didn’t wait for an answer. He took another step forwards, backed Aziraphale up against the wall. “No, I don’t need you to tell me. You’re  _ not. _ That’s why you’re coming here, grovelling for me to forgive you. You pushed too far and it  _ didn’t _ help, did it? That’s what this was about, wasn’t it? You could know what happened and know how to help me? Well, you know what happened now, so what do I need?” 

Aziraphale was absolutely silent, tears welling up in his grey-green eyes. 

Crowley faltered, stepped back. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.” 

He didn’t need to let Aziraphale say  _ anything. _ There was  _ nothing _ for the angel to say. 

Wordlessly, arm still bleeding, tears still streaking his own cheeks, Crowley walked down the spiral staircase and out the front door of the bookshop. 


	36. Chapter 36

This was worse than last time. 

Last time Crowley had been this upset, after his panic attack over Aziraphale’s ring getting caught in his hair,  _ God _ , that was only yesterday, Aziraphale had been mostly convinced that Crowley hadn’t left the bookshop. 

There had been evidence all over the bookshop, once he settled enough to look for it. The clippers that were misplaced in the bathroom, the clicking record in the sitting area, and the smell of eggs cooking in the kitchen. It had been obvious from the moment he had left the bedroom that Crowley was still there. 

This time, Aziraphale had chased him down the spiral staircase and  _ watched _ him slam the door behind him, bell jingling frantically, as though shoving it in Aziraphale’s face that he’d pushed too far and chased the demon away. 

Aziraphale didn’t need someone to  _ tell _ him how badly he’d fucked up, he already knew. He’d known from the moment Crowley had finally  _ broken _ and started talking that he’d made a mistake. From the moment Crowley had gone from denial to screaming in Aziraphale’s face about what the last twelve years had put him through, about how  _ alone _ Aziraphale had left him through it. 

He’d never put it together, the fact that he’d seen Crowley going to Scotland one day, and the next night Crowley was calling him about the Antichrist that he delivered to Tadfield Manor. Even once he  _ knew _ that Crowley used ‘delivered’ for a different reason than he initially let on, Aziraphale’d had the luxury of  _ forgetting _ that he’d tried to extort answers from Crowley in exchange for covering the trip to Scotland. 

What sort of friend _ , _ what sort of  _ partner _ would have looked at Crowley in such  _ obvious _ distress, in pain and miserable and being sent to another country, and tried to use it to his own  _ advantage?  _ To hold the relief he could have offered up above Crowley’s head, to make him  _ pay _ for it. 

He remembered  _ countless _ times of seeing Nanny Ashtoreth, limping and barely able to keep up with Warlock, and feeling  _ jealous. _ He’d been pining for Crowley since the nineteen-forties, and while he  _ had _ been a fool, he wasn’t an idiot. 

He’d been annoyed with Crowley, annoyed that it was  _ his  _ plan to save the world, to influence Warlock, his  _ insistence _ that they had to work together, and yet while Aziraphale slaved each day over the garden, she’d had enough energy to be sneaking through the halls of the manor at night. 

Warlock hadn’t looked like Thaddeus Dowling, a fact Aziraphale now knew to be because the nuns had swapped the Dowling’s  _ real _ child for the Young’s, but gossip spread quickly through the diplomat’s home, of how Harriet had grown tired of her husband’s faithlessness and  _ that _ was why Warlock didn’t look like Thaddeus. 

Aziraphale had managed to guess that it was  _ Crowley _ who had caused the final rift in the marriage, which he now knew  _ was _ true, but he’d been  _ horribly _ wrong to think that was what Crowley got up to at night. 

He  _ had been right _ to think that Crowley had lured Thaddeus away from Harriet. 

Only Crowley had done that on Hell’s orders, two days after being forcibly impregnated by the one being no demon could refuse. 

He’d been being beaten, abused and raped _ , _ and Aziraphale had been  _ jealous.  _

He  _ knew _ , rationally, that he couldn't have known, but words didn't even begin to sum up how  _ disgusting _ that made him feel.

And worst of all, he’d let that  _ filthy _ jealousy talk for him. 

For the most part, he’d forgotten the entire encounter Crowley had described. It pained him to admit that it hadn’t meant that much to him. He knew Crowley had hit him, rather hard, during the conversation, and that he’d been crying when it ended, but he didn’t remember much else besides being confused. 

Now he remembered all of it. Remembered the way he’d berated Crowley for tripping the staff boy who had touched him without his consent, just like someone was doing  _ most nights. _

He’d called  _ Crowley _ the problem. The kitchen boy had put his filthy hands on Crowley, and Aziraphale had acted like it was  _ Crowley’s fault. _

Crowley  _ was _ right. Once he’d said it, Aziraphale  _ did _ remember telling him he was behaving like the Whore of Babylon.

And the memory made him want to sob. 

He’d hurt Crowley  _ so badly. _ Crowley had never needed a friend  _ more _ than he had during the last twelve years, and Aziraphale hadn’t been there for him. 

And then, once he  _ promised _ Crowley he would be there, that he would support him  _ any way _ he needed to, he’d failed. He’d pushed and pushed and pushed and it was  _ too much.  _

He had thought, maybe, if he could get Crowley to tell him what had happened, he would know what to do. He had thought that once he knew all the facts, he would know what to say to Crowley, would know how to help. 

But he  _ didn’t.  _ He didn’t have a  _ clue _ what to do even now that he knew the truth. Now that he  _ knew _ Lucifer had broken Crowley’s wrist, now that Crowley had admitted that what Lucifer had  _ really _ done was rape him. 

He  _ couldn’t _ help. How was he going to fix the years of abuse that Crowley had been through? He now  _ knew _ all of the pain and sufferance Crowley had been through, but it wasn’t like he knew what that was like. 

Aziraphale had lived a lot of realities through his six-thousand years. 

He  _ hadn’t _ been raped and abused for twelve years, and made to think that it was his own fault. No one had put their hands on Aziraphale that way, no one had forced him to carry a child he didn’t want, that he hadn’t even  _ agreed _ to carry. 

In insisting he know the truth, he had made things so much worse. And now he had to go and find Crowley, and somehow convince him to let him back in. 

And if he  _ couldn’t _ convince Crowley, that was the serpent’s right. Crowley didn’t have to let Aziraphale come back. 

He was under  _ no _ obligation to let Aziraphale try to fix this. No obligation to let Aziraphale try to explain what he had done. 

But that didn’t mean the angel didn’t have to find him. 

As he was on his way out the door, he caught a glimpse of the fern he had rescued from outside Crowley’s flat. Crowley had taken it back, but upon his further abandonment of the fuzzy little plant, Aziraphale had snuck it back to the bookshop. 

He peered into the soil, at the little green spot that had been there. 

He could barely see it. Aziraphale pressed a hand to the side of the flower pot, whispered a blessing and quickly gave it some water. 

And then he set out of the bookshop. 

He didn’t really know  _ where _ he would find Crowley. He suspected it wouldn’t be Crowley’s flat, not if the demon didn’t want to be found. Aziraphale would  _ know _ to search the flat.

So he took a moment to think about it, standing outside of the bookshop.

He knew Crowley, he’d known Crowley for six thousand years, but it had been  _ six thousand years. _ The places Crowley might go to find refuge, to take shelter, to go just to think, to be alone. 

But he had a couple of ideas he could try before he left London. He  _ knew _ once he exhausted his ideas in London then there was no telling where Crowley could be. They had been across the globe and back on multiple times in the last six thousand years. If Crowley left London, which was fully possible for a demon not bound by physics, then Aziraphale might not find him for decades. 

Centuries, even. 

He started with Saint James’ park. 

They had been meeting in Saint James’ park for several centuries. 

So it was probably too easy. Aziraphale walked around the park, hoping to spot a flash of familiar red hair, but there was nothing. 

He tried a couple other locations, the bus, he even brought himself to Tadfield and checked with Anathema and Adam, but no one had seen Crowley, and Adam wouldn’t violate the demon’s privacy by searching for him with his remaining powers. 

Aziraphale could respect that decision, as much as it upset him. He wanted to know where Crowley was more than anything else, but he could understand why Adam wouldn’t search for Crowley. 

Adam had made his biological father a  _ promise. _ He had sworn to Crowley that he wouldn’t interfere, and he didn’t intend to. He was even incredibly rational while answering, saying that if Crowley  _ wanted _ Aziraphale to find him, then he would make it so that Aziraphale could find him. 

And that was true, but Aziraphale needed to find Crowley whether Crowley  _ wanted _ to be found or not. He needed to find Crowley to make sure that the demon was safe, wasn’t hurt. 

Crowley’d been  _ bleeding _ when he’d left the bookshop. Aziraphale knew he’d been in the bedroom, he hadn’t heard any indication that Crowley had fallen or done anything else that might have gotten him hurt. 

So the wounds were likely self-inflicted. Aziraphale was no stranger to self-harm, he’d been around humans for long enough to have seen almost everything they were capable of. He’d seen Judas swinging from his own rope after he’d betrayed Yeshua, he’d seen the body of Mark Anthony, seen the asp bite on Cleopatra. He’d seen almost everything humans could do to themselves, by poison, knives, swords, rope, and he’d seen the ones that  _ didn’t _ die, too. 

He’d seen the ones who refused to eat, who’d cut lines into their wrists and arms and legs. 

He knew enough to recognize  _ that _ in the scratches that oozed on Crowley’s arm. 

He was  _ scared _ of what Crowley might do if he was by himself, hurt the way he was. 

Crowley was harder to kill than a human, His body could bleed out, but his essence would be unharmed. His body couldn’t starve, a poison could stop his physical heart, but have no effect on Crowley’s true form. 

But he also remembered Crowley’s quest for Holy Water. 

He’d discovered something  _ about _ Holy Water in that time, something Aziraphale wished he hadn’t. 

It wasn’t the getting ahold of it that was difficult for a demon, it was acquiring it  _ safely. _ Crowley had learned in the church during World War II that Holy Water was readily available in churches. The difficult part would be getting it and storing it without touching it. 

And he dreaded to think it, but if Crowley really  _ was _ like the humans Aziraphale had seen throughout the ages, it wouldn’t be that  _ hard _ for Crowley to find something to make  _ his _ death as permanent as those of the humans. 

Aziraphale tried to think of whether or not Crowley had ever shown signs of being suicidal. He tried to think of any time it would have made an appearance. 

But Crowley hadn’t seemed to want to  _ end _ things. He’d wanted to run. 

He’d told Aziraphale that he wanted to run. He wanted to go to Alpha Centauri, up into the stars and take refuge, it was what he had  _ told _ Aziraphale in the bandstand when the angel had  _ yet again _ refused him. 

The bandstand. 

Aziraphale was standing outside Anathema’s cottage in Tadfield when he realized the one place in London he  _ hadn’t _ checked. 

The bandstand. 

He hadn’t initially thought of the bandstand, had never imagined that Crowley would  _ want _ to go back to it. Not after what had happened. Not after everything that Aziraphale had  _ said _ there, all the heartache and heartbreak that Aziraphale had put him through there. 

But now he realized, the way he had made Crowley feel  _ recently _ , that it might be the most  _ likely _ place for Crowley to go. 

He took a deep breath, spread his white wings again, heard a man yelling behind him about neighbourhood watch, ignored it and took to the sky. 

He touched down a little ways from the bandstand, looked over to see if he could get a sense that Crowley was there, and sure enough, he could  _ see _ a figure dressed in black, curled up against the railing. 

It didn’t  _ have _ to be Crowley, Aziraphale’s demon wasn’t the only being in London who wore all black, but he swore he could make out a flash of red hair. 

He didn’t say anything, not wanting to scare Crowley off, but he ran over to the bandstand, even harder than he had chased after Gabriel. 

When he got closer, it was confirmed to him that it  _ was _ Crowley, with his face pressed into his arms, knees curled up into his chest. 

He thought he could see Crowley’s shoulders shaking with sobs. 

He slowed down before he reached the bandstand, slowed his footsteps, walked cautiously over to Crowley. 

He cleared his throat, but Crowley didn’t look up. He stood in front of the demon, hands shaking, and finally hit his knees before Crowley. 

He slowly reached a hand out, but didn’t dare actually touch Crowley’s shoulder. “My love?” 

Crowley sat up with a start, stared at Aziraphale. 

There were tears streaking his cheeks, his eyes weren’t fully yellow, but there were no whites left anyways. His eyes were red and puffy from crying. 

Aziraphale could see crusted dried blood under his fingernails, see the scratches on his arm. 

“Crowley… Crowley, I’m so, so sorry…” he whispered, fully aware of how  _ little _ those words even started to cover what was wrong. “I  _ shouldn’t _ have pushed you, I know that now, and I’m  _ so _ sorry… if I could take it back, I  _ would. _ I should have  _ been _ there for you, you  _ never _ should have had to deal with this on your own. I should have helped you, I should have been someone you could  _ trust _ and I’ll never forgive that you  _ couldn’t. _ I wasn’t there for you, and I  _ should _ have been. And- and I know I’ve just hurt you  _ more _ , now. I’m so sorry, my love, I’m  _ so sorry _ I hurt you. You shouldn’t have had to tell me  _ anything. _ I shouldn’t have  _ made _ you tell me anything.”

Crowley lunged at him, and Aziraphale expected to be thrown to the ground, Crowley was a  _ demon _ and he’d never attacked Aziraphale before but if there was ever a time the angel  _ deserved _ it, it was now, but instead, the demon’s arms pulled tightly around Aziraphale’s shoulders. 

He was sobbing into Aziraphale’s shoulder before the angel even knew what was happening, had even processed that he  _ hadn’t _ been thrown to the ground. 

Crowley hadn’t pushed him to the ground. 

Crowley was  _ sobbing _ into Aziraphale’s shoulder, clinging  _ desperately _ to the angel. His fists dug hard into Aziraphale’s coat, he was shaking all over, and all Aziraphale could do was gently wrap both arms around Crowley’s shoulders. 

“I’ve got you, love. I’ve got you, and I might not know how to help, but I’m going to find someone who does. I promise,” he murmured, running his hand along Crowley’s boney spine. 

The serpent just sobbed even louder.


	37. Chapter 37

"Please don't be mad at me, my dear, if I've overstepped please tell me but… sexual and reproductive abuse are human issues too, my love. I've been looking into therapists who specialize in trauma, especially the sort you've been through. I know you don't think there's any ways you could ever open up about this to anyone else, and I understand if you refuse but… there's a woman who could see you as early as this week, if you wanted. Because Crowley, I have to tell you the truth, I owe you that much at least, I don't know how to get you through this. I'm going to stay by your side forever, my darling, as long as you want me there, I promise, but I don't know how to help you properly right now. I- I thought maybe if I convinced you to tell me what you'd been through I would be able to help, but you were right. It's all too much, I'm not the one with the knowledge on how to get through these things." 

Crowley hadn't walked away yet, and that was a good sign. 

It was about a month since the bandstand, Aziraphale had spent most of it tiptoeing and trying to keep Crowley comfortable and content. 

He'd tended to Crowley, he'd tended to the little fern he'd rescued, that was starting to shoot up again, and in his spare time, he'd done his research. 

"There's a lot of options, Crowley. If you don't want to see a professional, I understand that, there's a number of support groups available, too. Where you could talk about what's happened with people who understand what you're telling them. There's mental health retreats, although I would never suggest you go to one unless you want to, they keep a calm environment and I could visit whenever you wanted if you think it might help. Love, there are options for you, and when you're ready to discuss them, I'm here to listen."

Crowley was still silent. 

"My love… could you please say something? You can yell at me, tell me to keep my nose out of it just let me know you heard me." 

"You don't want me here," Crowley said softly, "not until I'm better." 

Aziraphale shook his head. "I'll always want you here, Crowley," he said softly, "not just when you're feeling better. I want to spend every day of the rest of our lives together, if you want that too. But I'm not equipped to understand or get you through what Lucifer put you through. I've spent six thousand years among the humans, but I don't know what to do for you besides be a shoulder to cry on, and you need more than that."

Crowley didn’t add anything, which made Aziraphale nervous. “Dear… you hurt yourself that night. I know it’s healed now but… I was worried. I was worried I wasn’t going to find you at the bandstand. That you might hurt yourself worse, or-”

“Do what you always thought I was going to with the Holy Water,” Crowley surmised, “I told you then and I’ll tell you now, Zira, that’s not what I wanted it for.” 

“You hurt yourself, Crowley, whether you did it on purpose or not. How could I know you wouldn’t do worse?” Aziraphale asked, trying to be as gentle as he could. “You’ve told me you didn’t know what you were doing when it happened.” 

“I’m not going to subconsciously douse myself in Holy Water, Aziraphale,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale was almost happy to hear anger and frustration bordering her tone, rather than indifference. 

“And what if you hadn’t?” Aziraphale asked, keeping his own tone level and even. “So maybe you wouldn’t go to a church, but what if you had hurt yourself even worse? What if you’d been hospitalized or discorporated? How would I ever find you if you had ended up in Hell?”

“I know better than to end up in Hell, Aziraphale. Adam can’t ban Lucifer from finding me in Hell, he can only prevent Lucifer from coming back to Earth.”

“Crowey. You weren’t thinking rationally. I know that’s partially my fault, but it’s why I’m worried about you, and I don’t think I can be the only one who gets you through this. I don’t understand what you’ve been through. I can’t even start to imagine what you’ve been through.” Aziraphale explained, biting at his lip. “I know it looks bad. I know I forced you to tell me and now I’m telling you I can’t handle it but it’s true. I never knew how I could help you, I just hoped I could manage well enough and I can’t.” 

“So you’re giving up. You want me to go somewhere else and only come back when I’m better. You only want to deal with me once I’m better. I’m more work than you realized, I’m more fucked up than you realized and-”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale finally snapped. “Listen to me, please. Just for a moment, don’t interrupt, just hear me out. I love you, Crowley, and I love having you here with me, no matter how you’re feeling. If you never felt any better than you do today, I would still cherish every second I spent with you. But I don’t think you’re happy how you’re feeling. I think you want to get better, it’s why you’re so upset with yourself. And I want you to be happy. And I thought for a long time that I might be able to make you happy again. That maybe together we could work through what you’ve been through, and you might feel better some day. But- but my mistake that night showed me I don’t know what to do, and I’m not the one who is going to be able to help you through this. That’s why I want you to consider a few options, including inpatient. But it’s up to you. If you want to stay here, with me, you absolutely can. I’d be glad to have you here. And if you want to go somewhere else and want me to visit, I’ll be there as often as you want me to be. And if in the end, you decide you’ll do better without me, then I’ll stay away until you want to see me again.”

Crowley had gone back to being quiet. She was just staring at Aziraphale from behind her dark sunglasses. 

“You see, my love? It’s entirely up to you. I just want to clear the air and tell you that I don’t think I can get you through this alone.” 

“And you won’t force me to go?” Crowley asked quietly, hands trembling. 

“Never. You never have to go anywhere if you don’t want to. You can stay here as long as you like, forever if you want. You don’t have to see someone, you don’t have to go to a support group and you don’t have to go to inpatient. I just needed you to know that there are options.” 

"You promise you don't just think that I'm too much work to bother dealing with? You promise you're not just trying to send me off to be someone else's problem? I know I've been a problem." Crowley mumbled, looking down at her hands. 

Aziraphale couldn't sit on his own seat anymore. He walked across the room to where Crowley sat on her typical couch, held his arms open and she folded into them. "You could never be a problem for me if you tried. I don't think you're a problem. I think you need help, I think you want help, and I think unfortunately it's more help than I can give you alone."

Crowley sat in Aziraphale’s arms for a long while without speaking. 

Finally, she opened her mouth. “I want to get better, Zira. I don’t want to hurt anymore.”

The words threatened to break Aziraphale’s heart. 

“I’m tired of hurting,” she said, voice barely distinguishable. “I’ve been hurting for six thousand years, Aziraphale, I don’t want to hurt anymore.” 

Aziraphale had to ask. “So will you think about getting help?” 

He held his breath as Crowley debated the idea. 

“Do you really think someone can help me?” Crowley asked quietly. “Do you really think I can get better? What if I’m too broken to recover, what if I can never get passed this, can never be free?” 

“Do you really believe that would matter to me, darling?” 

“What if I can never give you what you deserve. What you wanted from me?” Crowley asked. 

Aziraphale needed a moment to think of what Crowley meant by that, and when he did, he was horrified. “Crowley. It doesn’t matter. I don’t care what you can and can’t offer me, I’ll take and adore everything you can handle. I don’t care if we never finish what we started on the night after our trials. I only care about you. I wouldn’t want it if you were uncomfortable giving it. I only want you to be happy, safe and comfortable. I would never ask more from you.” 

“Don’t you want that, though? Want more than I might ever be able to give you?” 

“Crowley. All I want is you,” Aziraphale said softly, “and I’ll cherish everything we can do. Every hug, every kiss, everything we can do. And I do believe that someone can help you. I don’t know how much they can help, but I believe they can help you somehow, if you’ll consider letting them try.” 

Crowley rested her head against Aziraphale’s shoulder. “And I can stop if I don’t think it’s helping?”

“You can stop whenever you want. As soon as you want to,” Aziraphale promised, kissing her hair. “I’ll never make you go.” 

Crowley took a deep breath. “I’ll go, Zira,” she said finally, “give me the number for the woman you said could see me, and I’ll go… but…” 

Aziraphale was too elated by Crowley’s agreeing, he would have accepted any conditions. “What is it, dear?”

“I want you to come with me, Aziraphale. I don’t want to go by myself.” 

Aziraphale didn’t know the policies on that, but he decided right then and there he would search until he found a therapist that would agree to Crowley’s condition. “Anything you want, dear. I’ll go with you. Do you want the number right now, or-”

“Just hold me for a moment, Aziraphale,” Crowley said meekly, as though she was embarrassed or thought that Aziraphale might deny her request. 

He gave her just the slightest bit of a squeeze, which would normally get a laugh but she was worked up at the moment, kissed her cheek. "I love you more than anything, Crowley," he said quietly. "More than all of creation. I can't tell you how grateful I am that God crossed o-" 

He stopped. 

Crowley hadn't reacted well to his last mention of God, and she tensed when he said the name this time, too. 

"I'm sorry, love. It's just… we have fundamentally different beliefs, Crowley. You know that. I- I'll try not to bring up the Almighty but-"

"She's important in your life. I know. I shouldn't have yelled it's just with everything Heaven says about Her plans and thinking if everything… what else am I supposed to believe? If She knew the Antichrist would be born, then- then-" 

"Then She must have known how it would happen. I'll never ask you to forgive that, Crowley. Even I don't know if an alternative answer exists. And I'll do everything I can not to bring Her up like that again." 

"You have comfort in the Almighty," Crowley said, "I can ask you to leave me out of it, but I can't ask you to stop. In a way, I sort of envy that the comfort is still there for you. I can't have that anymore, angel. I have to live with the consequences that She let this happen. I wanted to be angry with you, that you wouldn't see it but- I don't want you to face the consequences of doubting Her for me." 

Aziraphale took a moment to consider his words. "I think I can understand what you're saying without turning my back on Her, if you're willing to let me. Even… even share in some of your anger, Crowley. I don't think we can't be angry for what She did to you, what She allowed to happen to you. I have faith that the Great Plan had to be stopped, and the Antichrist had to be born but that doesn't mean I think your sufference was justified. I-"

Crowley pressed a finger up against his lips. "Shhh. You've-" she sniffled, wiped her eyes. Aziraphale had even noticed her start to cry. "You've said everything I need you to say, Aziraphale. Everything I need to hear, everything I want you to say. I don't want you to go on. I don't want you to doubt and have it be my fault when you Fall." 

"I appreciate that Crowley, and if you want me to stop, I will. But I need you to know one thing, my love. I have no doubts about this fact, Crowley, you are worth Falling for. And I could Fall right now, tomorrow, next week, in six thousand more years and I would still know that to be true. I would still know you were always worth falling for."

Crowley seemed to watch him for a moment, fear in her eyes, as though she predicted some sort of self-fulfilling prophecy, but nothing happened. 

"But I truly don't believe an angel could ever fall for loving someone, Crowley. Not a human, not another angel, and not a demon. Even though I'm angry with Heaven, with what happened, I'm angry for you. Because I love you and something that pains you pains me too." 

Crowley sobbed into his shoulder. Her lips pressed against his cheek, the side of his neck. "I love you too, Aziraphale. Thank you for staying with me. I couldn't do this without you."

"You'll never have to, love. I'll be with you for the rest of all time. You're the love of my life, I'll never leave your side unless you ask me too," Aziraphale murmured, holding Crowley close. "We're going to get you through this together. I'm going to be here for you, forever. And I believe things will get better. I believe you're going to get to heal once you have the right help. And I'm going to be a part of that, I'll never leave you on your own."

Crowley finally settled the slightest bit in his arms, she was smearing eyeliner on Aziraphale's shoulder but he couldn't care less. Tears still dripped down her cheeks, but she smiled, just the tiniest bit. 

He knew every word he said was true. He knew he would stay at her side for the rest of all existence of she asked him to. It broke him to see her so hurt and vulnerable. 

He thanked God, his lucky stars and whoever else might listen that he could do that much for her. 


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Boxing Day everyone!

"Angel…"

Aziraphale choked down whatever protest he had to Crowley trying to back out now as soon as he heard how terrified she sounded. "Angel, I-"

"Dear, you don't have to go if you don't want to. The 24-hour cancellation fee only applies to people who can't make it so that their appointment never existed. If you can't make yourself go, then you don't have to. We can try this later, when you feel more comfortable."

Crowley seemed to need a minute or two to think about that. Eventually, although already five minutes after the appointment was meant to have started, she shook her head and pulled the keys out of the ignition. "I need to go," she said, and it sounded like she was trying to convince herself and the angel.

Aziraphale pressed a hand to her shoulder. "But not today, not if you can't." 

"I'm not going to live like this anymore, afraid of everything and unable to enjoy the world we helped save. I need to go. I want to enjoy the world, and our relationship, and this is holding me back from things I wanted to do. In general, with you…"

"I told you, Crowley, I'm not disappointed with where our relationship is. There's nothing more I would ask of you if you didn't want it." 

"I did, Aziraphale. That's how this all happened in the first place, isn't it? I did want more with you. I'm happy with what we have too, angel, but you're not the only one who wants more, if it's possible."

it was the most confident on a matter like this Aziraphale had heard Crowley in a long time. For a long time it had seemed like Lucifer had ruined this for her, and Aziraphale had simply allowed that to be the case. He wouldn't push, not that she wasn't comfortable. He didn't want anything she wasn't comfortable with.

And she hadn't been comfortable admitting that this might be something she wanted Aziraphale had assumed it was because she didn't want it anymore and didn't want to disappoint him. 

She never would have disappointed him with that news. He couldn't fathom what it would be like, trying to push past what she had been through. "If it's something you want, then go and get it, Crowley. I'm right here beside you. Just don't rush for my sake. There's no need to rush, I love you and I love what we have. Now, we're running a little late. If you do want to go in today, then we'd best be going. But if you don't that's okay. I understand that you're nervous."

Crowley shook her head, pushed the Bentley's front door open and stepped out. "Come on Angel, you said we're late."

"I'm sure she won't mind."

Aziraphale took Crowley's hand to walk in with her. Her knuckles were white around his hand in no time, but he didn't complain. 

She was scared, it was obvious, and Aziraphale was so proud of her just for insisting on going. He squeezed her hand reassuringly. "It's going to be alright, dear. And I'll be with you the whole time."

Crowley nodded. 

The waiting area was painted a dark blue-grey. There was a coffee machine in the corner, an old stereo playing piano music. The seats were leather and new. 

Crowley immediately took a seat, and Aziraphale walked up to the desk. "I'm just checking in, there should be an appointment for Crowley?" He said softly. 

"Are you Crowley?" 

Aziraphale shook his head. "No, Crowley is my partner. She's nervous to be here, and asked me to come in with her. I called in ahead to make sure that was okay?”

The receptionist nodded. “Of course, Nadeen is waiting in her office for you,” they replied, “you can both go in the first door on the left as soon as you’re ready.” 

Aziraphale walked back over to Crowley, lifted her hand to his lips and brushed a kiss against her knuckles. She didn’t stand up, just looked up at him. 

“Dearest, the woman is waiting for us in her office, but you can take as long as you need,” Aziraphale told her. 

Crowley nodded. 

She took a deep breath, and then another, then got back to her feet. Aziraphale led her carefully down the hall, knocked on the first door on the left. 

A middle-aged woman with greying hair, brown eyes and a pleasant face pulled it open. “Hello, you must be Crowley?”

“That’s me,” Crowley said quietly, not looking up from the ground. 

“And you are?” the woman asked, looking at Aziraphale. 

"Ezra. Ezra Fell. I'm Crowley's partner." 

"I want him to come with me," Crowley said quietly, clinging to Aziraphale's hand with both of hers. "At least for the first little while."

"Of course. My name is Nadeen, please come in, take a seat wherever you would like." 

The door swung the rest of the door open. Crowley took a seat on the nearest of several chaises, she was still obviously freaked out and wanted to get off her feet. Aziraphale sat in the chair beside her. 

Nadeen took a pad of paper and a pen, as well as several legal documents from her desk, came and took a seat across from Crowley. "There's a bit of legal things we have to take care of, and we should do it first. Are you up for a bit of paperwork?" She asked. 

Crowley nodded. 

Nadeen walked her through the several forms, mostly going over confidentiality. Crowley's movements were stiff as she scrawled her messy signature on each one, and handed them back to the woman. 

"Right. If you'd like, I can tell you a bit about myself to start. As I said, my name is Nadeen, I've been working in therapy for the last fifteen years. I specialize in trauma, in particular in helping those who have experienced any form of sexual or reproductive trauma."

Aziraphale could feel Crowley tensing up the longer Nadeen spoke. He squeezed her hand, smiled reassuringly at her. 

"There are a few things I need to know about you, before we begin. I'm going to take notes, if it makes you uncomfortable or if you would ever like to see what I've written down, please don't hesitate to ask. They're for my own benefit, I'll never show them to anyone else." 

"I don't think I can talk about it all," Crowley's voice was hushed. 

Nadeen smiled sympathetically. "I don't need you to, not right now. You don't have to share anything with me that you're not ready to share. We're going to work together on identifying and handling the things that trigger you, and how to move past where you are today, but you never have to tell me something you aren't comfortable sharing. We can work on this all one step at a time."

"Don't you need to know… what… what happened?" Crowley asked. Aziraphale could hear the confusion in her voice. 

"It's my job to work with the information you give me. I would like you to tell me what you can, but that can be as much or as little as you want it to be. Traumas are things we have to face, but I don't believe in forcing someone to face them before they're ready. Let's start with some easier topics, shall we?"

"Like what?" 

Nadeen smiled. "Well, you've brought your partner with you today. Do you live together?" 

"Sort of," Crowley replied, frowning a little. "I've got a flat, but I mostly live with Az- Ezra. It's… it's good to have some company."

"Indeed it is. I'm glad you're not alone. Have you been together for long?" Nadeen asked. 

"A couple of months," Crowley replied, Aziraphale stroked his thumb over her knuckles. "But it feels like we've been friends forever." 

Nadeen, of course, wouldn't know how literally Crowley meant that. But she wrote that down anyways. 

"I'm glad to hear that you've always had someone to support you. Do you have any other friends?" 

"I've made friends with… with someone recently. Ran into her… by accident, gave her a ride home. She's… it's good to talk to her." 

Nadeen smiled. "And have you told anyone what you've been through, Crowley? I don't expect you to tell me right now, and it's okay if you haven't, I just want to establish whether you have or not."

"I told Ezra but… but…" 

Aziraphale didn't want to interrupt, but he felt the need to confess. "I… I made her tell me… I thought it would help. It didn't. It… lead us here." 

Nadeen nodded to acknowledge what Aziraphale had said, but she turned to Crowley to confirm. "Would you say that's accurate?" She asked, "I appreciate that you want Ezra here, and Ezra, you need not be concerned about speaking up, so long as you aren't talking over Crowley, but I'm going to check back in with Crowley for most things. It's what she thinks that is important here."

"He's right," Crowley said quietly. She played her thumbs together. "He kept asking me, and I… I snapped at him about it. But I told him. I just didn't want to." 

Guilt seared in Aziraphale's chest, but Nadeen didn't seem entirely surprised. 

"I'm not saying this to tell you that you didn't do anything wrong, Ezra, I believe you know now that you made a bad decision, but I promise you that it's not an uncommon one. Loved ones always want what's best for patients, it's only natural. However, they're often misinformed. I will tell you now that trying to incite exposure or make Crowley talk about this will often simply be even more traumatizing. It's very important for you to know, Crowley, that this is entirely guided by you. I will never ask Ezra to tell me anything that you've told him, I'll never tell him anything that you tell me, and we only have to push as much as you're ready to push."

Crowley nodded. "I… I appreciate that. In this case… Ezra is right. I- I know you didn't mean to do anything wrong but- but-"

"I know I pushed too much and too far, Crowley," Ezra said quietly. "You can say so. I shouldn't have done it in the first place." 

"Well, now for the hard part. What are you comfortable telling me, Crowley?"

Crowley faltered. Aziraphale could see it on her face, she didn't know what she was willing to say. "I- I-" 

Nadeen didn't say anything, clearly prepared to allow Crowley all the time she needed to come up with something, but Aziraphale was unconvinced Crowley would. 

After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, Aziraphale spoke up. "Maybe it would be helpful if you told us what you are already aware of, Nadeen?" He suggested, keeping his voice gentle, wary of cutting Crowley off and interrupting what was meant to be happening. 

Nadeen considered him for a moment. "Would you like me to do that, Crowley?"

Crowley nodded. 

Nadeen nodded. "Well, I don't know if this will reassure you or not, but even though I spoke to both of you over the phone, I don't know much. You told me that you'd been hurt and needed someone to help you move past it. Your partner told me that you'd been abused for a rather long time."

"I have a son," Crowley said suddenly, and Aziraphale blinked in surprise. Of all of things to come out, he hadn't expected Adam to be the first thing Crowley spoke of. "He's… he's eleven years old. He doesn't live with us or his father, but his father… he did… he did it on purpose."

"He got you pregnant intentionally, and you didn't want that."

Crowley nodded. "I placed him for adoption in the end, but he wouldn't let me… I couldn't get rid of it. I think if something had happened he would have killed me. No, I- I know he would have killed me if something had happened to it."

"Crowley, before we continue I have to ask. Are you in a safe place now? Are you still threatened by him?"

Crowley shook her head. "N- no, he's gone now," she said quietly, "it's just… it doesn't matter, I can't get it out of my head…"

A tear traced down Crowley's cheek. 

Nadeen smiled sympathetically. "It can be very hard to shake trauma, even when you know it won't happen again. Can you tell me how long the abuse went on for? You need not tell me what he did, but how long did this go on?" 

"Twelve years," Crowley replied, biting her lip. "Give or take a couple of months."

Nadeen wrote that down. "That's a very long time to live through abuse. Now, will you tell me if you're in contact with your son? You know his name."

"I've met him a few times," Crowley confirmed. "I- I had him on my way back from a trip to Scotland I had to take. Didn't have a choice, had a terrible job. Left him… left him on the steps of a birthing hospital in Tadfield. I met him for the first time this year." 

"You gave birth by yourself?" 

"In the driver's seat of my car. It took ages to clean the inside." 

"And what sort of car do you drive?" 

"A 1933 Bentley. Believe me, between the age of the leather and the blood, it was hard to find someone willing to clean it up."

Nadeen let out a whistle. "Very impressive, how long have you had it?" 

Crowley smiled softly. "Since before I got my license," she replied, which was not inaccurate. Licenses had been required in the UK since 1903, but Crowley hadn't gotten her own until the mid-seventies. No one had ever realized, and she had only gotten it because she was proving a point about her driving to Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale happened to know she had used a miracle to pass, but he didn't bother to call her on it. He just made sure to take the bus rather than a ride from her when he had the choice. 

Aziraphale mostly stayed quiet through the remainder of the visit, only chiming in when someone asked him a question. He wanted this to be about Crowley as much as possible. 

When the meeting was done, Crowley was relatively quick to leave, getting herself out of the office. 

Once they were outside, Aziraphale held his hands out for Crowley's, which she ignored and pulled him into a hug. 

"Are you feeling alright, love?" He asked, kissed her cheek. "You were so brave, my dearest, I'm so proud of you. Did you like her?"

"I think I did," Crowley replied, slowly pulling away from Aziraphale and walking towards the Bentley. "Ezra Fell is what you're going with? So what does A. Z. stand for?" 

"Oh, hush, darling, if you call me Zira this way, she probably won't notice. I thought it was a nice name." 

Crowley kissed his cheek. "Alright, Ezra Fell."


	39. Chapter 39

Crowley had fallen asleep, face pressed into Aziraphale's side, both arms wrapped tightly around the angel's middle, and Aziraphale's hand gently stroking his red curls. 

Aziraphale had been reluctant to touch Crowley’s hair again, especially after the demon had let the curls grow out again, but after asking Crowley if it might be alright and taking off his ring, a comfortable rhythm fell between them. 

Crowley had told him outright what Lucifer had said about his hair the night before he cut it. The way he’d used it to pull Crowley around, to keep him controlled. 

Aziraphale had sworn up and down he would never pull. If his fingers so much as found a tangle in Crowley’s messy red curls, he avoided it entirely. 

And gradually, Crowley had relaxed and fallen asleep. 

The angel spent the entire time Crowley was asleep trying to think of how, if necessary, he would assure Crowley that it was really him, and not a horrible nightmare dressed as a dream. 

It had happened before when Crowley woke next to Aziraphale, and the angel was determined not to let it happen again. 

He could stomach the rejection and horror. It wasn't for his own sake that he wanted Crowley to know instinctively that it was really Aziraphale when he woke. 

He couldn't stomach how upset and panicked Crowley got. Couldn't stomach watching the love of his entire six thousand year life's eyes well up with tears and the way he scrambled back, choking on his breath. 

It wasn't that he was hurt by the fact that he scared Crowley in mornings like these. He understood why it was scary. 

It hurt watching Crowley and seeing him in such a state. It made Aziraphale's heart ache. He wanted desperately to convey the fact that Crowley was safe and he never needed to be so afraid, not ever again, but Lucifer had stolen every comforting aspect he had away from him and used it as a weapon against the demon now snoring lightly against Aziraphale's side. 

The only thing he had was holy grace. Lucifer had no holy grace. 

But for now Crowley was snoring, huddled up tightly against Aziraphale. He was tired from the previous day, he had spent it in the garden, up to his elbows in soil. 

Aziraphale planned to offer that they leave London soon. For now, Crowley garden was inside one of the rooms of the bookshop, but Aziraphale was looking into homes where they could have a real garden outside. 

Things were slowly getting better, but Aziraphale had decided he wanted to get Crowley out of the hustle and bustle of London, if the demon was amenable. He’d looked at several homes near the seaside, where the lights of the city didn’t drown out the stars Crowley had made. 

And it might be a good way to help Crowley continue in his therapy, if he was in a calmer environment. He would run it by Nadeen before he suggested it to Crowley, ensure that suggesting a move wouldn’t be too stressful, and of course he wouldn’t make a move until Crowley had agreed. 

But therapy seemed to be going well, and Aziraphale had a feeling Crowley might agree about wanting to leave London.

Crowley saw Nadeen twice a week. 

He had stopped having Aziraphale after the first couple of visits, and now just asked the angel to wait for him in the lobby, which Aziraphale did gladly. The receptionist often told him he didn’t have to stay, Nadeen was very organized and her sessions always ended on time, but Aziraphale wouldn’t do that to Crowley. He’d promised he would stay, and so he always did, flipping through magazines he found under a chair or reading one of his own books for the duration of Crowley’s appointment, until the demon would step out of the room. 

They had a little ritual. Crowley’s sessions were draining for him. It was difficult to dredge all of this up and continue. 

On days that it would help, Crowley would step out of the office and walk directly up to Aziraphale, hold his arms open and wait for the angel to engulf him in an embrace. 

On days where that wouldn’t help him, he simply walked directly out of the building, and Aziraphale followed behind him. 

From there, they could evaluate what Crowley needed from the relative safety and privacy of the Bentley. 

After today's session had been different. 

Crowley had walked up to Aziraphale and handed him a sealed envelope. 

"Crowley, do you mind if I ask what this is?" He asked, turning it over in his hands. 

"I told Nadeen there was something I wasn't ready to tell you. She said it was important that I get it out, so she said if I couldn't make myself tell you I should write it down and give it to you." 

"I see," Aziraphale agreed, flipping over the envelope and sticking a finger into its sealed seam, about to tear it open.

Crowley shook his head desperately. "No, you're not supposed to open it." 

That gave Aziraphale pause. "Then what is it for, my love?" 

"To get me used to telling you. I don't want you to open it right now, or read it. Just hold onto it, and if by tomorrow morning I haven't asked you to open it, destroy it." 

Aziraphale nodded. "And what happens then, if I destroy it?"

"I'll write you a new one in the morning."

Aziraphale nodded. "And this is going to help you?"

Crowley nodded. "It- I think it will. I know it sounds stupid but-"

"Crowley, I've told you. Nothing you think will help you is stupid,” Aziraphale said gently, placing a hand on Crowley’s shoulder. “If you think it will help, then we’ll do it.” 

Crowley smiled. “Thank you, angel. Can- can we go home now?” 

“Of course, my dearest,” Aziraphale agreed, stepping to the side to allow Crowley to walk out the door and back out to the bentley. 

Aziraphale knew Crowley was exhausted when he handed the angel the keys to his beloved car and climbed into the passenger’s seat. 

“Are you feeling alright, my love?” Aziraphale asked, slipping into the driver’s side. 

“‘M just tired, Aziraphale,” Crowley said. 

Aziraphale nodded. “Get all the rest you need, darling. And if you want to talk about anything, including a distraction, just say so.” 

Crowley nodded. 

He played with the radio controls while Aziraphale drove, although to the angel it seemed he was flicking through many versions of the same song. 

He never seemed to be satisfied with a channel for more than a minute, and eventually, he gave up entirely, leaned back in his seat with the radio off. 

He didn’t sleep, Aziraphale could see slivers of his yellow eyes, but he looked mere seconds away. His breathing was deep and even. 

The envelope sat between them on the bench. 

Aziraphale was a liar if he claimed some part of him didn’t want to open it, but Crowley trusted him with it. 

He wouldn’t violate that. He didn’t want Crowley to tell him anything he didn’t want the angel to know. 

Not again. 

So he would keep the envelope until the end of the day, and then he would likely burn it to prove it was gone. 

And if it was helping, Crowley would give him another envelope with the same message tomorrow morning.

Crowley dozed with his head on Aziraphale's lap for most of the afternoon. Aziraphale didn't mind, he sat on the plush sofa and read his book in relative peace. 

He loved how peaceful Crowley was when he slept. Awake, the horrors of everything Aziraphale's precious demon had suffered shone through his eyes, and broke into his smile. 

When he was asleep, he just looked peaceful. 

Finally at ease. 

Crowley had earned his peace. Aziraphale watched over him attentively as he dreamed, a small, barely-there miracle used to ensure any and all dreams would be pleasant. 

Sometimes nightmares still snuck through Aziraphale's guard, but he did his best to keep Crowley's dreams sweet and lovely. 

His life for the past twelve years had been enough of a nightmare. He deserved nothing but lovely dreams. 

Aziraphale loved him desperately and it hurt to know there were shadows and monsters in Crowley's head that he couldn't fight off. 

This was something he could do. He could keep Crowley's sleep peaceful. 

He had the envelope in his pocket. He wouldn't open it unless Crowley asked him to. 

Crowley's breathing was gentle and easy, his pretty red hair was fanned out on Aziraphale's thighs. Aziraphale was still pretending to be reading, although he was really was just watching the steady rise and fall of the demon's chest. 

Crowley's phone began buzzing. The demon didn't stir. 

Aziraphale pulled the phone out of Crowley's pocket to stop it from waking him up, looked at the call display. 

_ Adam Young. _

Aziraphale obviously knew who Adam Young was. He was the antichrist, the boy from the airbase, and probably most importantly for why he was calling, he was Crowley's eleven-year-old son. 

The angel wouldn't normally take someone else's call, but Crowley was sound asleep and Adam wouldn't call for no reason. 

He swiped his thumb over the accept button, put the phone to his ear. 

"Crowley?" 

He knew the boy's voice, and he sounded afraid. "Crowley is asleep at the moment, dear boy, this is Aziraphale, the angel from the airbase. Can I help you?" 

Adam was quiet for a moment. "Something is wrong. I need you to come and get me."

Aziraphale frowned. "May I ask why? I don't mean to be cruel, but I don't know if Crowley would  _ want  _ you here." 

"I  _ know,  _ Aziraphale, I wouldn't call you if I didn't think it was important. I can sense some sort of demonic presence here and I don't want my parents or anyone else to get hurt and the best I can do is call  _ you two  _ because you're the only supernatural beings I know."

Aziraphale took a deep breath. "Go to Anathema's cottage, tell her I sent you and don't leave until I get there. She has protections on her cottage that will keep you safe. Do you think your parents are in danger?"

"I don't know!" 

Panic finally broke through Adam's tone. 

"Okay. I'm going to wake Crowley up, do you want me to stay on the phone with you?" Aziraphale asked, gently shaking the demon's shoulder. 

"Please."

Crowley sat bolt upright as soon as he was awake, and Aziraphale knew he had spooked the demon and took a moment to shine his halo. 

Crowley visibly relaxed. "Who's on the phone, angel?"

"It's Adam. You should talk to him, we need to get to Tadfield he's in trouble."

Crowley hurried to his feet, Aziraphale turned his attention back to Adam. "Dear boy, I've woken Crowley, do you want me to hand you off to him?"

"Yes," Adam said immediately, and Aziraphale held the phone over to Crowley. 

"Adam? Adam, I need you to breathe. Can you tell me what's happening?" Crowley asked, running to the door and grabbing his keys along the way. Aziraphale was made steps behind. 

Crowley just listened for a few moments, and then he spoke up again. "Okay, it's smart that you're with Anathema. When we get there I'll check on your parents, Aziraphale will go get you. I-"

Adam would think Crowley was just hesitant to suggest this. 

Aziraphale knew Crowley's throat swelled up trying to say the next part, to force himself to make the offer. "I think you should spend some time in London, with us. We'll put a ward in Tadfield to protect your parents, and bring you back to the bookshop with us."

It was a good plan. Aziraphale knew it was a good plan. 

He also knew that looking after Warlock, who hadn't really been Crowley's son, had done to the demon. 

He knew Crowley would suffer for this. But he also knew better than to question Crowley's resolve. 

If his beloved demon was ready to make that offer, he was ready to stand by it. 

Crowley climbed into the Bentley and took off not seconds after Aziraphale had gotten in, phone held against his ear with one hand as he screamed the car out of Soho. 

Aziraphale had never seen Crowley speed so quickly through London. He was out of Soho before Aziraphale even knew it, and speeding down the motorway to Tadfield. 

The whole way, he kept his voice calm, kept reassuring Adam that he was on his way and everything would be fine. 

Aziraphale was stunned he could stay so calm. He could see the tension and stress and pain in every move that Crowley made but it didn't break through the surface. 

Aziraphale reached over and pressed a hand to Crowley's shoulder. "Are you-"

"Don't," Crowley said, pulling the phone away from his ear and mouth. "Don't ask me if I'm okay. If you ask me, I'm going to break down and I can't do that didn't now. I need to pay attention to Adam right now. I'm holding on by a  _ thread,  _ Aziraphale and if it snaps…"

Aziraphale nodded. He didn't move his hand, though. "Just know I've got you when you need me, love."

Crowley nodded tersely, put the phone back to his ear. "Adam? Are you able to give the phone to Anathema?"

The answer was yes, apparently. "Ana, Adam tells me he can sense a hellish presence. He'is human and won't be harmed by it, so set up every anti-evil warding thing you have. Burn sage, polish the horseshoe, anything you can think of. I'll send Aziraphale to you so it can't hurt me, I'm going to check on the Youngs."

"Are you already almost here?" Anathema must have asked. 

"Time is immaterial to occult beings," Crowley replied, probably trying to be mysterious. Aziraphale knew the reason was that the Bentley's speedometer was sitting above the 200 mile an hour mark. Crowley's knuckles were white on the steering wheel. "Aziraphale will be at the cottage in about five minutes."

Aziraphale wasn't actually that sure about what the plan was, but he was following his part decently enough to jump out when Crowley pulled up in front of Jasmine Cottage. 

He could smell the woodsy smoke as soon as Anathema pulled the door open. There was salt across the doorway. 

Aziraphale decided not to tell her that these were demons, not slugs. "Adam? It's Aziraphale, can you come out? Crowley will be back once he makes sure your parents are okay." 

Adam stepped into the kitchen. "I'm sorry, I panicked I didn't know what to do-"

Aziraphale held his arms out and Adam rushed into them. "It's alright, dear boy. It was smart of you to call. Things are going to be okay."

"If I go to London, my parents will be worried sick about me," Adam said softly. 

Aziraphale swallowed uncomfortably. "They probably won't, if Crowley is smart. He'll probably put a charm on them for the time being. They… they won't even know you're gone or remember you're meant to be there. It's temporary, don't worry."

"Maybe it would be better if it wasn't. I don't want my parents getting hurt because of me."

"He'll handle it, Adam. I promise."


	40. Chapter 40

Crowley called Aziraphale from outside the door to Anathema’s cottage. He had offered his best advice when he had told the witch to use all of her demon-preventing prowess, but now he couldn’t go within ten feet of the door without choking on sage smoke. “Angel? Is Adam alright?”

“He’s fine, did you find what’s going on in Tadfield?” 

“No. Not yet. Could you come here?”

Crowley didn’t want to admit that he was nervous to go looking too hard. Maybe it was stupid, maybe it would make perfect sense to the angel, he didn’t know, but he was terrified to keep searching. 

Who knew who he would find. There was a demon on the loose in Tadfield. 

What if one of them brought him back to Hell?

"Of course, dearest, just let me thank our host," Aziraphale agreed, and after a few moments he stepped outside. 

He looked like he was about to ask what was wrong, but one look at how Crowley was shaking and he knew. He rushed over to the demon, held his arms out for Crowley to collapse into.

"I should have been the one to go searching, love," he said, rubbing the demon's back, "it's alright, you go and sit with Adam in the car and I'll find what's going on. You don't need to be anywhere near them."

"I want to stay with you," Crowley said quietly. 

Hell was tricky. Going back to the car wasn't home safe. If they were after him, they would get him whether or not he was searching for them. "I don't want to go back, Zira, and-" 

"I know, I know, love, I'm not going to let them take you back. I've got you. But we have to make sure that whatever demon is here isn't anywhere near Adam's parents. Adam is the Antichrist, he could protect you if you stayed with him, or you can come with me. It's up to you, Crowley, I won't make you do anything."

Crowley knew his own son could protect him, probably better than Aziraphale could if he put his mind to it. 

But he didn't want to let go of the angel. 

Aziraphale seemed to take the hint. "Anathema? Would you watch over Adam for a few more minutes? Crowley and I have a protection spell to set up."

"Of course, Aziraphale."

That was true, but it wasn't the only task. As soon as Crowley and Aziraphale were out of sight, Crowley sobbed. "I'm sorry, angel, I was trying to look for them and I just panicked about what would happen if they caught me off guard," he whispered, "I can't go back. If they brought me back it would be the end of me. He might not kill me himself, but I wouldn't be able to survive that again. I can't do it again, angel, I-"

"Crowley, I need you to breathe, please. He hasn't got you, no one is going to bring you back to Hell. You're completely safe."

"I'm  _ scared,  _ angel," Crowley breathed. 

Aziraphale held onto him a little tighter. "I know you are. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you."

"How very touching," a mocking voice drawled from behind the demon. "Hell hazzz no interest in you, Crowley. The only thing you  _ would  _ be any good for is throwing into Lucifer's office with that maid'zzz outfit, like you suggested. And even then, I doubt you're  _ actually  _ a good lay. He'd be finished burning you out within the week. We're here for your son." 

Crowley bristled. "You leave Adam alone, Beelzebub," he snarled. 

Beelzebub laughed. "And why do you care what happenzzz to him, Crowley? You never wanted him in the first plazzze! You crashed your car and threw yourself down the stairzzz trying to get rid of him. Dagon and I were wondering what Lucifer would do to you when you got dezzzperate and unwound a clothes hanger." 

Aziraphale's hands closed protectively around Crowley's shoulders. "Go away, Lord Beelzebub," the demon said, glowering at them. "If Hell has no further use for Adam Young, then just leave him be. You don't get to punish him for not doing what you wanted him to, he's  _ not _ your son."

"His father izzz Satan. Our Lord and Master."

"And as Lucifer loved to point out until a few months ago, I'm his mother," Crowley snapped, taking a step forward. "You're not going to hurt him on my watch. You're right, I never wanted him, but that doesn't mean I'm going to stand back and let you make him suffer. You're  _ right,  _ Beelzebub, I never agreed to have him. I never agreed to let Lucifer have his way with me, you all  _ laughed in my face  _ when you sent me down into that office for him to  _ rape me  _ but you gave me one thing you didn't count on, Bee. Adam is  _ my son, _ too. You're going to leave him alone."

"You don't give the orders here, Crowley," Beelzebub hissed, stepping up until they were nose to nose with him. 

Crowley glared down at them. "Earth is  _ our  _ domain. Go back to Hell where you belong, and leave my son and his family alone." 

Beelzebub snarled at him. "You haven't seen the last of us, Crowley. Heaven and Hell aren't done with your insolent little brat."

"I'll be  _ waiting _ for you," Crowley promised, narrowed his eyes. "When you show your face here again, I'll be  _ waiting." _

Beelzebub finally seemed to realize that Crowley wasn't bluffing. 

"This is not the end of this."

"What are you going to do, come back with your boyfriend Gabriel and some more holy water? It was  _ very  _ rejuvenating for my scalesss," Crowley hissed, and then he did what would have been unthinkable just a few months ago. 

He turned around, back to the Lord of the Flies, and walked back up to Aziraphale. "Come on, we have wards to place."

"Crowley, you were-"

Crowley cut him off. "I'm about two seconds and a threat away from losing it, angel, get me out of here," he said quietly. 

"You were  _ bluffing?"  _ Aziraphale whispered, shocked. 

"Of course I was, what do you think I have on the Prince of Hell, Aziraphale?" 

The angel didn't say anything else, Crowley must have made sense. He wrapped his arm protectively around the serpent's slim shoulders and they continued walking to the Young's small home. 

There was a residue of demonic presence on the premises, it made Crowley's skin crawl, but there was no one actually present. "Right. Time to put our old alliances to work. You can place wards to stop demons, I can curse the ground to reject angels. We'll come back in a week, if everything has held up then it will be safe for Adam to go home. He's not going to want to stay with us and I'm not sure I can  _ handle it  _ if he does. You first, I'll make my curse have a wider perimeter so I can still lay it without stepping in your wards. That would get messy."

"We could make ourselves exceptions, Crowley," Aziraphale suggested, "it would just take each of our sigils in the other's circle."

Crowley shook his head. "If we write in exceptions, they can be exploited. We're better off with zero tolerance. If somehow the Youngs ever find out we exist and insist on meeting us, we'll do so on neutral ground."

Aziraphale nodded. 

Humans could make wards, too, but they had to draw their circles by hand on the surface. 

Aziraphale crouched down, pressed his hand into the ground. 

Aziraphale's circle drew itself under the surface of the Earth, carving itself into the ground. Crowley could see the blue lines of it glowing from under the soil. Aziraphale murmured something in Enochian, Crowley looked away just in time as the circle flashed brightly and then disappeared. 

Aziraphale stood up and brushed his hands off. "Your turn, my love." 

"Step out of my circle, Aziraphale," Crowley said patiently. Aziraphale took several steps back, and then it was Crowley's turn. 

His own process was very similar, a glow with much sharper lines than Aziraphale's. 

It wasn't quite a colour that made sense. It glowed, although it was black, or rather, infra-black. The colour a human would see if they charged head first into a brick wall, behind their eyes, through the pain, just before they died. 

It too, flashed brightly as Crowley murmured an incantation, and then disappeared. "There. They should be safe. You're my family, and Adam is of my blood. Our wards should be more powerful by that virtue than anything Gabriel or Beelzebub could do."

Aziraphale nodded. 

Then he stopped Crowley from walking away, heading back to Jasmine Cottage. "Crowley. Are you going to be alright this week?" He asked, "it's just me here. You can be honest. You've been so strong now and before we go get Adam I need you to have the chance  _ not  _ to be." 

That gave Crowley pause. 

He wasn't really sure. "It's going to be hard. I'm going to need both of your help but… Adam is a good kid. I know he understands it's difficult, it's going to be hard on him, too. We'll get through it. It's just a week." 

Aziraphale nodded. "Let's go and get Adam." 

It didn't take long to load everyone back into the Bentley after thanking Anathema profusely and putting up a few wards for the witch, as well. They didn't need to be as strong, Anathema was a capable young woman and could handle herself, but it was better safe than sorry. 

Crowley knew he should have let Aziraphale drive and sat with Adam, but he just couldn't do it. He looked at the backseat where the boy was seated, tried to make himself open the door and Aziraphale had stepped in front and taken a seat with Adam. 

It wasn't a big gesture. But Aziraphale had  _ noticed  _ that Crowley was uncomfortable, and that was big. 

Crowley climbed back into the driver's seat, and they returned to London in silence. It was uncomfortable beyond belief, but neither he nor Adam had anything to say that would make this better. Adam was being pulled away from his parents for a week, Crowley was having his hand forced yet again on raising the boy he'd never wanted to have. By the time they got back to the bookshop, Crowley had managed to prepare himself to actually say something. He put the car in park, let Aziraphale out and then climbed into his spot. "Go inside, angel, we'll follow in a few minutes."

Aziraphale nodded and walked away.

"I'm sorry I called you, Crowley. I didn't mean to force you to be involved," Adam said quietly. Crowley shook his head. 

"It's good that you called. You were right to be worried, Beelzebub was skulking around and I'm sure Gabriel and his crowds of airheads weren't far behind," Crowley said gently. 

"But I put  _ you _ in danger, too," Adam said, blue eyes bright with tears. 

"I'm your mother, Adam. If you're in danger and I'm  _ not,  _ then I'm not doing my job right." 

Adam shook his head. "You shouldn't have to be responsible for me, Crowley."

The demon placed a hand on Adam's shoulder. "We both know what happened too well for me to bother lying to you and saying that I'm fine with what happened, Adam, I'm not and I don't know if I ever will be. But though it's hard for me to be around you sometimes, I don't see you as a  _ burden  _ I had to take on. You're just a little boy, no matter how you came into this world, you yourself are not a burden. It's true, you bring up a lot of trauma for me. But I still want to help you. It's not  _ you _ that hurts me," he explained, "so don't feel bad if you have to call me. You're not a burden to me." 

Adam nodded. "I- I know this week is going to be hard for you, Crowley," he said. 

"You're too wise for your own good. You're right, it will be. But I have Aziraphale, and I don't want you to blame yourself if  _ my  _ issues flare up. What's going on in my head is not and has never been your fault. And whether you believe me or not, I've known that in the back of my mind since before I even knew for sure you existed. You're not your father and you're not responsible for what he did to make you," Crowley said firmly. 

The tears slipped down Adam's cheeks. "Thank you, Crowley. I- I know you've always told me it wasn't my fault but- but-" 

Crowley smiled sadly at his son. "I know as well as anyone how hard it is to convince yourself of something you don't believe, even after you hear someone say it." 

Adam nodded. "If you need something from me, or need me to do something, to go somewhere else or anything like that this week, promise you'll tell me. Whether or not I'm responsible for it, I don't want to cause you any more pain that I have to." 

Crowley nodded. "I will. It's going to be a difficult week for all of us, Adam, but just- just don't think that it's your fault." 

"As long as you promise not to blame yourself, either. You've changed a lot since I saw you last time, I don't want you to go back to blaming yourself." 

Crowley nodded. "I've worked hard to get myself here, Adam, I don't plan on letting that go. Now come on, we should get inside before Aziraphale starts to worry." 

"Can I ask you one more thing?"

Crowley nodded. 

"You called yourself my  _ mother.  _ I- I thought that was what my father always told you that you  _ had  _ to be. You don't look like a mother right now."

Crowley smiled just a little bit. "Lucifer hasn't got the right to tell me what I am, I haven't just given in, Adam. I gave it a lot of thought, talked it over with some people, and while I'm not convinced I would want you to call me mum, even if you wanted to, I think I'm alright with being your mother. It's a position I can accept and claim as my own." 

Adam nodded. Crowley slipped out of the car and helped the boy out as well, walked them both up to the doorway of the bookshop. 

"Are we really any safer here?" Adam asked, wide-eyed. 

"Don't tell Aziraphale I told you, he denies it, but he's been keeping unwanted guests out of the bookshop for years. Mostly, that's customers who want to buy something, but its included his former bosses and even me, back in 1922. I tried to walk in to talk with him, we'd had a bad fight last time I saw him, and the door wouldn't open. Course, just made me angry all over again and I didn't see him until World War II. Point is, we're safe here." 

Crowley pushed the door open and ushered Adam inside. 


	41. Chapter 41

Neither Aziraphale nor Adam felt anything but sympathy for the fact that Crowley slept through the first two days of Adam's visit. 

Crowley had a lot of uses for his powers, he was inventive and creative, but he wasn't a powerful demon. The wards had taken a lot out of him in Tadfield, and both Aziraphale and Adam knew that his drained powers were only half of his fatigue. 

Crowley had been through so much to bring Adam into the world. Unspeakable torment that Aziraphale knew he should have been there to protect him from. The demon had worn himself to the bone with everything Lucifer had forced him to go through. 

The fact that being around Adam exhausted him was hardly a surprise. 

Initially, Crowley had fallen asleep on the couch. Aziraphale had since carried him upstairs to their shared bedroom. It was quieter there, Crowley would get a better sleep without the bustle of the shop disturbing him. 

By halfway through the second day, Aziraphale pulled Adam to the side to make sure he knew that Crowley's behaviour wasn't something he should take personally. 

Adam, in his unfailing way, was shockingly understanding. 

There was one major change Aziraphale noticed when Crowley did wake up. 

He would answer any question Adam asked. No matter how painful it was. 

He first noticed when Adam had off-handedly mentioned that he thought he remembered Crowley holding him. 

Crowley nodded and told Adam that he probably did. That he had passed out in the front seat of the Bentley with Adam wrapped up in his jacket and held against his chest, and only woken up when Dagon managed to get his attention through the radio. 

Aziraphale couldn’t even bring himself to imagine what that must have been like for Crowley, passing out from blood loss and pain with an infant in his arms and being woken up just to be forced to drive himself the rest of the way to the Tadfield birthing hospital. 

The demon had been all alone the entire time. No one to hold his hand or try to help, and if he died, the infant had better survive, or there would only be more suffering. 

He had held on to Crowley a little tighter than normal that night, once he had gotten permission to do so. He didn’t want the serpent to forget that he was there for him, now. He never had to be alone like that again. 

He didn’t know if it had worked, but he was heartened to note that Crowley was still curled up tightly in his arms, clinging to him but breathing easily, when he woke up. 

Aziraphale smiled, gently ran his hand along Crowley’s back. The serpent didn’t stir. 

Crowley’s hair curled more when it was shorter, which was something Aziraphale had never really appreciated before. Cropped short it gave the appearance of being straight, and length weighed down the curls, but how it was now, chin length and a little messy, there were waves and curls Aziraphale had never appreciated before. 

He knew he saw constellations in Crowley’s freckles this time as he sat and just watched the demon breath, he could see what he was certain was Serpens and Ophiuchus on Crowley’s cheek. Hercules was up around his eye, Libra behind his ear, he was quite certain that if Crowley rolled over, Pegasus would be on his other cheek, or perhaps across his nose. Spatial distance wasn’t Aziraphale’s strong suit. 

He’d been reasonably sure the stars were there the entire time he’d known Crowley, but he’d never gathered up the courage to ask why. Had they always been there, and Crowley had designed the universe after his own skin when he had decorated the cosmos? Had he traced them on his own flesh as he created them, making a complete map of the masterpiece he knew no Earthling would ever fully appreciate? 

Had they been a gift? Something that had appeared on his skin for causes unknown after he had completed his work? A gift from the Almighty that now doubled as a reminder of what he had lost?

All the light from stars that reached the Earth was millions of years old. Crowley’s work, his  _ purpose _ as an angel was burning out, many of his stars were dead before the humans even found them. 

Had Crowley known when he had made them that they would be destroyed? The Earth had only been slated for destruction since after the Fall. 

Had Crowley believed the stars would be eternal? Were the freckles something he had gained  _ after _ the Fall, so that even as God destroyed his masterpiece, he would always have a version of it?

Suddenly Aziraphale regretted never asking about them. There were patterns Aziraphale didn't recognize. Constellations were a human invention, they couldn't see the stars that far away to make them into their constellations. 

Aziraphale thought he might just find his own. There was a near-perfect triangle on Crowley's shoulder, something that could have been a crow on his bicep.

Crowley woke up while Aziraphale was tracing his finger gently along the constellations he was inventing as he went along. "Angel, that tickles," he complained, batting Aziraphale's hand away. "What are you doing?" 

"They're stars!" Aziraphale said, grinning at Crowley, gently tracing his thumb over the constellation of Serpens on the demon's cheek. 

"Always have been. They move, too. They move with the sky according to where I am."

Aziraphale's eyes widened at that revelation. "They  _ move?"  _

Crowley nodded. "Up here in London they're pretty much circular, the North Star is off-center though. At the celestial equator they would do complete circles around me." 

Aziraphale had never asked Crowley about the stars. Not on his skin, not in the sky. He had assumed it would be too painful. 

He hadn't realized that Crowley knew so much about the so-called heavens. "You've been following humanity's understanding of the stars since the very beginning, haven't you?" He asked. 

Crowley nodded. "A few years back they found one of the only planets I ever got to work on. It's inside what they call the 'habitable zone' of Proxima Centauri, but it's tidally locked. Apparently it's a promising candidate for life in the universe." 

_ "Is  _ there other life in the universe?" Aziraphale asked, fascinated. 

"I wasn't authorized to know that. Just make the stars, and a handful of planets at the closest one to Earth. What's the interest now, angel, you've never cared before," Crowley remarked. 

"I never wanted to ask. I… I guess I'm still reluctant to ask. I worry it might hurt you. I don't want to pry about your time spent in Heaven, and I don't want to pry at all now, after my mistake-"

"Aziraphale, if I don't want to talk about something, I'll tell you. I told you I didn't want to talk about the last thing, didn't I?" 

He had a point. 

"You won't make yourself answer the way you do with Adam?" 

Crowley's expression turned sad. "There's only one person in the whole thing who got more taken advantage of than me, and it's Adam. He didn't have a say." 

"Neither did you, Crowley," Aziraphale murmured. 

"I know that. You and Nadeen stress that enough that I know that by now. But Adam… I don't want him to think his birth is some traumatic thing I can't talk about. I don't need him to carry that burden. My trauma isn't his cross to bear, figuratively." 

Aziraphale nodded. 

"If you want to ask about the stars, you're welcome to." 

Aziraphale bit his lip. "When did you get them?" He asked. 

"They appeared as we made them," Crowley said honestly, "they used to glow. Or, shine. I'm not really sure I remember. They looked like real stars. They burned with everything else when I fell. At first it was painful, but… She could have taken them away entirely. I know She's the one who put them there, I know She's the one that had them burn. But they're still here, and they still move. They're just dark now."

Aziraphale nodded. "They're beautiful," he said honestly. 

"So I've been told," Crowley said with a bit of a grimace. Aziraphale felt a sharp pang in his chest. 

"I'm sorry, Crowley. I shouldn't have said that, I know how it makes you feel. I just…  _ damn _ Lucifer for making you feel that way, love, damn him further than Hell," Aziraphale spat suddenly. 

Crowley seemed surprised by his outburst, but didn't say anything. 

"You didn't do  _ anything  _ wrong. I know I can't get you to believe that right now but you did  _ nothing  _ to make what happened happen, dearest. Lucifer did what he did not because you  _ tempted  _ him, he did what he did because he's a  _ monster. _ Because he's nothing more than a  _ rapist.  _ Nothing you did had anything to do with it. It doesn't matter how you look, how you dress. Anyone but a common  _ animal _ can keep their hands off someone when they're not wanted, no matter how attractive they find someone." 

Crowley opened his mouth to protest. "You don't have to believe me, love. I wanted to say it, so that you had heard it, but I don't intend to argue with you. I know you don't want to hear about your looks right now, so I won't say anything. I slipped up, Crowley, and it won't happen again." 

Aziraphale had always found Crowley alluring. He didn't talk about it now, but he had always admired Crowley in every way possible. 

"I used to want to believe that maybe I  _ was.  _ Even with burns and scars and scales and these eyes. There was a time I would have been happy to hear what he said. But not the way he said it." 

Aziraphale thought carefully about how to word his next statement. "I love your scars. And your burns, and scales and those eyes of yours. They're part of who I fell in love with," he said, "I  _ love  _ you Crowley. I don't simply lust after you, find you attractive or amusing. I  _ love  _ every part of you. I'm sorry it took me so long to realize, and even longer to say it out loud. You deserved to be hearing that for the last six thousand years, and I swear to you, I'll be telling you even more often for the next six thousand years, to make up for my silence."

Crowley sniffled and held on even tighter to Aziraphale, buried his face in the angel's soft pyjamas. "I never thought you would say anything like that to me. I never thought I was worthy of your love." 

"Worthy and so much more," Aziraphale promised. 

"I'm not an angel."

"I wouldn't want you to be." 

Aziraphale would have loved to stay there with Crowley's arms pulled around him forever, or at least for the next several hours, but they weren't alone in the bookshop, and someone had to get up and look after Adam. 

Aziraphake didn't want to force exposure on Crowley. "I should go make some breakfast for our guest, love. He'll be hungry."

Crowley nodded, reluctantly loosened his grip on the angel. 

"Can I kiss you?" Aziraphale asked. 

"Please," Crowley replied, and Aziraphale leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. 

Adam was already in the kitchen when Aziraphale got downstairs. "Is Crowley doing okay?" He asked. 

"He's just having a bit of a lazy day," he said, which wasn't entirely untrue. Crowley likely needed a while to compose himself before he came down the stairs, but he had slept in later than Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale began making waffles, whipping up a batter as Adam sat patiently and waited for breakfast at the dining room table. 

He was surprised when Crowley walked down the stairs just a few minutes later, wrapped up in his nice black bathrobe as well as his normal pyjamas. He didn't say a word, but he ruffled Adam's blond hair almost fondly as he walked past the boy, took a knife out of the drawer and some strawberries out of the fridge before he began slicing them into a bowl. 

"Good morning, Crowley," Adam said. 

"Good morning, Adam." 

Anyone who hadn't known Crowley for six thousand years would have missed the strain in his voice. Aziraphale didn't mention it, knowing Crowley didn't want Adam to know how difficult this was.

"When can I go home?" Adam asked, looking up at the both of them with his bright blue eyes. "It's nice here, but I miss my parents, and I know Crowley won't want me to stay. It's alright," he said quickly, when Crowley started to protest. "I know there's a good reason why you can't handle me staying, you would if you could. It's okay, Crowley."

Crowley stared down at the strawberries he was chopping, tears shining in his eyes. 

"I know you feel like you should love me. You don't need to."

"I  _ do,"  _ Crowley said quietly. Set the knife down, turned around to face Adam. "Not the way your parents do, I don't think, but I really do think that I do. I thought I had gotten out scott-free because I didn't feel any maternal connection to Warlock, but that was only because it was always with you. It didn't matter if I wanted to, I don't really think it was up to me at all."

Adam nodded. "But I know that it wouldn't be good for either of us if I stayed. You wouldn't be able to handle it, something wrong would happen. And I miss my parents, Crowley, truly, I do. I want to go home. I want to know that they're okay, I want to see Dog, I want to go home."

Aziraphale nodded. "I said that we would give it a week, but we could probably go back and check in a few days. I don't want to rush it. Our influences could destabilize the wards and make them weaker."

Adam nodded. "Will they be able to hold up if I move back?" He asked, fearful. 

"Crowley and I will have to reset them every once in a while, but the longer they're up, the more your aura will tune into the wards, and you'll actually be able to contribute to their strength," Aziraphale explained. 

Adam nodded. 

Crowley quietly went back to chopping the strawberries, Aziraphale began cooking the waffles on the iron. 

They breakfasted mostly in silence. Crowley picked at his waffles, not eating much, despite the syrup and strawberries which he normally enjoyed. 

Aziraphale reached his hand under the table and gently placed his hand on Crowley's. The demon clenched his fingers around the angel's hand.

Adam pretended not to notice the discomfort. Crowley obviously had mixed feelings about Adam.

When the young boy walked out of the kitchen, Crowley turned to Aziraphale, leaned his forehead against the angel's shoulder. "Can you… could you call Nadeen, angel? Book me the first appointment she has? I- I think I'm going to go back upstairs. I'm  _ tired,"  _ he said softly. 

"Of course, love. You get your rest."


	42. Chapter 42

Aziraphale knew things were bad when in the end, Crowley spoke to Nadeen almost every day for the week Adam spent with them, with or without an appointment. 

They put on a brave face, never let Adam see them struggling, but Aziraphale was the one who knew the signs and was watching them drown without being able to help. 

They had brought Adam home yesterday. Cleared up his parents' memories, introduced themselves to Arthur and Diedre Young as family friends, which a miracle made them believe. 

Adam was safe and sound and happy, and Crowley was still miserable. 

They still wrote a note each morning, handed it to the angel and watched him burn it in the fireplace at night.

It became a ritual. Something that kept the both of them calm, brought the stress of the day to a close, watching the envelope burn in the firepit. Crowley would lean their head on Aziraphale's shoulder, and they would watch the paper burn to ash. 

It was good to have something calming at the end of the day, because it wasn't hard to see Crowley was spiraling. 

They were trying very hard not to let on that they were struggling. They didn't want Aziraphale to worry about them, and the angel found that both concerning and sweet. 

But he had known Crowley for six thousand years. He could see the way Crowley was struggling to hold on, he knew by now what to watch for. 

He was incredibly worried, but there was nothing he could do. Crowley was talking with Nadeen, was doing everything they could to look after themself and it still seemed that the freefall meltdown was fast approaching, no matter what either of them did.

Aziraphale felt completely useless. Six thousand years of friendship, and the fullest understanding of what had happened to Crowley, and he couldn’t come up with a single way to help his demon.

He was useless. When Crowley needed him most of all, he was useless. He couldn't do anything to help when it was most important for him to do so. 

He did all he could, holding Crowley tightly when the demon would let him, giving him a shoulder to cry on and desperately trying to be of some assistance, but he knew it wasn't working. 

He'd never felt like more of a failure than he did trying to dry Crowley's tears, knowing another episode was on its way. No matter what he did, things got bad again and whatever he said wasn't enough. 

He could do nothing but watch Crowley's world spiral down around them. He tried to prepare himself to pick up the pieces, but he didn't even know how he would tell that things had finished breaking. 

He loved Crowley more than anything. More than anyone or anything else in the entire universe, but there wasn't any option for him but to wait and see what broke next. 

He knocked on the door to his and Crowley's bedroom, unable to stay out in the hall any longer. 

Crowley pulled the door open. 

They had bags under their lovely yellow eyes, their chin-length red hair was messy and tangled. There were tear tracks down their cheeks. 

Aziraphale held his arms open as an offer, and Crowley folded into his arms, resting their chin on his shoulder. 

"It's alright, I've got you," Aziraphale murmured, rocking gently from side to side, stroking down the length of Crowley's spine. "I've got you, you're going to be okay…"

He looked into the room. 

The bed was a mess, with clothes and jewelry and phone cables and makeup spread across it. The floor was similarly messy, although Aziraphale didn't mind. As an angel, it would be easy for him to clean it up. 

What caught his attention was the large black suitcase sitting in the middle of the bed. 

It was half-packed full of Crowley's clothes. Their phone was sitting on top of a pair of their leather jeans, screen still lit up with Nadeen's number dialled in. 

"Crowley, are you planning on going somewhere?" Aziraphale asked carefully. 

He couldn't fathom what Crowley would be leaving for. Maybe they needed some time away from the bookshop. 

Crowley sniffled, wiped their nose behind Aziraphale's back. "Nadeen-" 

Their voice cut out, they sobbed. 

"Crowley, it's alright, dearest. What did Nadeen suggest?" Aziraphale asked, pressing a kiss to their cheek. 

"She- she thinks- there's an inpatient care center with a bed available," Crowley said quietly, "she thinks it might be good if I go and… and I think she's right. I need more help than you can give me, Aziraphale." 

Aziraphale had wondered when something like this would happen. He knew Crowley needed better help than they were getting. "That's okay, Crowley, I'm glad you noticed," Aziraphale murmured, "do you want my help packing? Or some company?"

Crowley sniffled, stepped back a bit and wiped their eyes. "Please," they agreed, looked back at the bed. "I- I don't know how long I need to go but-" 

"Crowley, you can take as long as you need. We'll get you packed up, and I'll drive you to the care center, and I'll visit you as often as you want me to, dear. I understand you need more help than I can give, and I'm glad you are looking for it. I'll be there for you as much as you want me, and I'm so, so proud of you for agreeing to this. You've made a huge decision, and I couldn't be more proud of you." 

Crowley sniffled again, gave Aziraphale a kiss on the cheek. "Could you help me pack up, please?" They asked, and Aziraphale wiped away their tears. 

"Of course," Aziraphale agreed. 

He carefully tucked several more pairs of Crowley's clothes into the suitcase while Crowley mostly sat on the bed, folding and unfolding the very same graphic t-shirt over and over again.

Aziraphale didn't mind. He slipped a few of his own pullover sweaters into Crowley's suitcase, since Crowley liked to steal them anyways. 

They would keep them comfortable and warm, and a quick miracle made it so they would smell like whatever it was Crowley wanted them to. 

Crowley set the folded and refolded t-shirt to the side, bundled up the woolen blanket Aziraphale had made them with his holy grace and wrapped it around themself. 

They then picked up the shirt again, smoothed the front in their lap. 

It had an old, faded logo for the band that the Bentley was always playing. Queen. The shirt probably came from around when the band was actually touring. 

They traced their finger over the band name. 

"Are you going to bring that shirt, too?" 

Crowley sighed. "The humans consider it a collector's item now. One of their first concerts. Never had to worry much about that, they only wear in as much as I want them to. Anyways, it's just… it was the first shirt I realized didn't fit, you know," they said. Their shoulders slumped. "I had given up on even trying to hide it, but it… it still stung when I couldn't even put on a t-shirt I liked and sit on the couch or- or listen to music or-"

Aziraphale sat down beside Crowley before they leaned against him and sobbed, Aziraphale wrapped his arms around them. "I was missing you so much and so sick and- and he kept coming back. I couldn't get a break, not for a second. I… I haven't worn it since." 

They sat the shirt beside them. "I don't think I can wear it again. I just remember standing there in the mirror trying to get it to fit." 

"You don't have to wear it if you don't want to. Did you want to bring it with you? It sounds like it just reminds you of everything you went through, but maybe you want something like that," Aziraphale said gently. 

Crowley shook their head and put the shirt to the side, fell back into Aziraphale's arms. "I'm sorry you're not enough," they murmured, "I'm sorry I can't seem to get better no matter what I do."

"Dearest, I don't want you to apologize for being hurt and needing help," Aziraphale said gently. "I'm so proud of how far you've come in the last twelve years, and I'm in awe of the decisions you've made. It's a hard choice to go and see a counselor. It's a harder choice for you to let Adam stay here but you did that too, and it must be even more difficult to make this one. I'm in absolute awe of you, Crowley, and I don't need an apology."

Crowley sniffled again, reached over, contemplated the suitcase and closed the top, zipped it shut. "Would you come with me? I need someone to bring my car home, I don't want to leave it there," they murmured. 

"Of course, Crowley. Do you want me to drive you there, or can you drive?" 

"Would you drive?" 

Aziraphale nodded. When Crowley let go of him, he lifted Crowley's suitcase to bring it out to the car. 

Aziraphale slipped a couple of audiobooks into the front pocket. 

He looked up before he stepped out the door, saw the little fern he had been tending for Crowley. 

He set the suitcase down, pulled it down from the shelf. 

It was much greener now, though very small and frail. He walked back into the bedroom. "I think you should bring this with you," he said gently, "I hope you don't mind that I took it, you seemed so angry with it and I didn't want it to die, it seemed important to you. You took it again when I brought it to you but… you just left it there and I was worried about it. It's doing better, now."

Crowley reached out a hand, and Aziraphale placed the fern in it.

They immediately pulled it towards their chest, peered down at it. "It was dead," they said, frowning. "Never even yelled at it, did everything it needed and the bloody thing was still dead."

Aziraphale sighed. "Not quite dead, dearest, you saw that when you took it back from me. There was a little growth left. When you left it in your flat I brought it back with us, it's been sitting in the sun on top of a bookshelf near the door since then. It's doing much better now. I… I took care of it when I didn't know how to take care of you," he explained, "it made me feel like I was doing something. But now… now I think maybe you could use something you know how to take care of." 

"Do I?" Crowley asked miserably, looking down at the fern. "I did everything it could have needed and it was still dying!" 

Aziraphale frowned. "What did you do to it?" He asked. 

"I watered it regularly, sat it in the sun, pruned away dead sections every time it had one and it still did terribly!" 

Aziraphale nodded. "I see. Well, I can continue to look after it if you want, but I do think it might be good for you to look after something. And you did seem protective of it."

Crowley pressed their lips together. "Could you… could you keep looking after it?" They asked, biting their lip. "It's doing really well with you, I don't think I can take care of it…" 

Aziraphale smiled and held his hands out. "Of course, dear." 

Aziraphale set the little fern in the sunlight on the dresser. "Do you want to go now?" He asked, "or would you rather have dinner first?" 

Crowley's eyes shone with tears. "You know I've never said no to dinner with you, angel, but-"

Aziraphale nodded. "Maybe we can pick up something on the way and eat when we're there," he suggested, "let's get you out to the car." 

"Angel?" 

"Yes dear?" 

"When you get home from dropping me off… you should open the envelope."

Aziraphale took both of Crowley's hands in his own. "Are you sure?" 

Crowley nodded. "It's about you. You deserve to know and I think it might help explain why I have to go," they said. 

"You know you don't owe me any explanation, right? I don't need to know why you have to go, knowing you have to go is enough for me, dear." 

"I know. But… you still deserve to know," they decided, then got to their feet. "Can we… can we go now? I can give you directions." 

"Of course, Crowley." 

When he got home from what was an incredibly stressful evening with several more meltdowns, a few conversations with nurses and a psychiatrist, a dose of an emergency anti-anxiety medication and a lot of paperwork, Aziraphale was exhausted. 

Crowley hadn't been doing well when he'd left, but the nurses had insisted it was best Aziraphale leave then, when Crowley's golden eyes were foggy and unfocused and they were tired from the medication. To not give them another chance to get upset. 

Crowley had texted him goodnight while he was driving home. It had been early, much earlier than Crowley would normally sleep, but if Aziraphale was exhausted, he couldn't imagine how tired Crowley was, being the one melting down and on medication. 

He was glad to think of Crowley getting some well-deserved rest in the hospital bed, curled up in the woolen blanket they had brought with them, likely with the help of a sleep-aid, provided Crowley had remembered to let their metabolism kick in properly so they would actually feel the effects of the drugs they were given. 

When he got back to the bookshop, he pulled down the envelope Crowley had sealed that morning. Their uneven, messy scrawl was scratched across the front, simply reading 'Aziraphale.'

He flipped the envelope over in his hands, looked it over. He knew Crowley wanted him to open it, but somehow he was reluctant to do it now, too. 

He set it to the side, walked into the kitchen and made himself a fresh mug of cocoa. He sat back down with it, contemplated the envelope. 

He had burned so many of these envelopes before. Part of him wanted to just toss this one, too. Maybe Crowley didn't need to tell him, after all. Maybe it could just remain a secret. There must have been a reason Crowley hadn't wanted to tell him. 

But his curiosity got the better of him. He picked up the letter up, slipped his finger under the seal and tore it open. 

It was a very simple white note, folded in half and slipped into the envelope. He pulled it out and unfolded it. 

Crowley normally had large, bold writing. These words were small and almost meek, and they brought tears to Aziraphale's eyes when he read them.

He pressed a hand over his mouth, trying not to cry. He wanted to fly back to the care center Crowley was sleeping in right now and hold them tightly, beg forgiveness, beg them to tell him it wasn't true. 

The worst thing was, Aziraphale felt the same way. 

The note was only one sentence long, but it was enough to break the angel. 

_Part of me still blames you for not protecting me._


	43. Chapter 43

After taking whatever it was the doctor had given her, Crowley slept for most of the next day. 

She was exhausted. Even when she woke up at three in the afternoon, with the midday sun shining in her window and chatter in the dorms around her, she was still tired. 

She sat herself up, reached into her suitcase, which had been gone through by a nurse the night before, tugged out one of Aziraphale's thick sweaters and pulled it over her head. 

There were certain ruses Crowley had to uphold while among humans. She brushed her hair out instead of just snapping it back into order, put on a pair of slippers as opposed to letting her snakeskin double for a pair of shoes. 

She slowly walked out of the dorm and down the hall to the nurses' desk. 

"Anthony! It's good to see you, how are you feeling?" A nurse asked her. 

Crowley winced and shook her head. "Crowley. Call me Crowley."

The nurse nodded and wrote that on a notepad on the desk. "My name is Tami, I'm your nurse for the afternoon. The doctor wants to speak to you today, talk about some of your options and help get you settled into a routine. Would it be okay if I paged him now and told him you're awake?" 

Crowley nodded. Tami didn't immediately do so, however. "Are you hungry?" She asked, "dinner is in two hours, but I could find you something to eat if you'd like." 

Crowley shook her head. "I'm not very hungry." 

Tami nodded. "Of course. Well, you can settle yourself in the main room here, if you'd like, you might have time to shower before the doctor gets here if that's something you want to do."

Crowley shook her head. 

"If you need anything, please come and get me, and I'll be keeping an eye on you, too. Not for any dark reason, just to make sure you're doing alright."

Crowley nodded and slowly shuffled over to a small corner of the ward with a window and a bookshelf. 

It reminded her of Aziraphale's bookshop. She sat on the small couch, tucked her feet up beside her and clicked on her phone. 

She had a message from Aziraphale. 

He would have read her note by now. Crowley's throat felt like it closed up a little when she thought about it.

She knew it was best that he had read it. He deserved to know why she had to leave the bookshop, why she had to come here and surround herself with strangers. 

She was far from the only person on the ward. There were twenty-two beds total in this wing, two private rooms and two dorms. Crowley had mentioned that it was difficult to place her in a dorm, considering she was not pinned to one gender, but it had just been simplest to agree to stay in the women's dorm. 

It was where the empty bed was, anyways. They had promised that if she was uncomfortable they would work on getting her into one of the private rooms. 

Crowley had a roommate, a young lady with long blond hair. Crowley hadn't spoken to her last night, but she did see her now, playing a video game on one of the television sets. She didn't appear to be very good at it. 

There was another television that was playing old music videos, several people were sitting around it. More still milled around the room, using the computer, talking on the phone, playing board games or shooting pool at the table in the room. 

"You're new here, aren't you?" A voice said beside her. Crowley turned to look at the man who had spoken. 

"Yes."

He was elderly, seemed a little confused. He patted her shoulder, which she didn't appreciate, she liked that Aziraphale always asked, verbally or nonverbally, before he touched her, but she didn't fault him for it. It  _ was _ a mental health center, she shouldn't judge. "You're in good hands here, miss," he said, smiling a smile that was missing a few teeth before he walked away. 

Crowley didn't feel much like smiling, but she forced herself to try to return the smile he gave her. It probably looked more like a grimace of pain. 

After sitting staring out the window at the passing cars for about an hour, she brought herself to look at the message Aziraphale had sent her. 

It was long, almost longer than she had the will to read, but she made herself do it. 

_ Crowley, I blame myself too. You don't need to feel guilty for holding me responsible for not helping, I should have been there for you and I wasn't. You've been saving me countless times these six thousand years, and I failed you when you needed me to save you. I'm sorry.  _

_ I know you're probably asleep, dear, but I had to tell you that before I could sleep myself. I need you to know that you can let go of whatever negative feelings you have about blaming me. It's okay. You can blame me as long as you need to.  _

_ I'll come and visit you for dinner tonight, unless you don't want me to. I hope when you read this you've had a wonderful night's sleep, and you're in my every thought and prayer.  _

_ I miss you more than anything, I'm so incredibly proud of you, and I love you more than life itself. Have a lovely day, and I'll see you soon. _

Crowley didn't entirely know how to feel after reading the text. 

On the one hand, she was justified. Aziraphale wasn't upset or offended by the fact that she blamed him. 

But that wasn't what she had written it in search of. She had written it to get it off her chest, to be more fair to Aziraphale. He deserved to know that Crowley blamed him. He deserved to know she was thinking irrationally and it was going to hurt him this time. 

There had been no warning signs. No Nazis discussing the bookseller they had tricked, no Englishman locked up in the Bastille. 

Lucifer had given no warning. He had just summoned Crowley to Hell and raped her. 

It was irrational to blame Aziraphale for not stopping it. But irrational didn't mean that Crowley didn't still feel that way. 

She'd spent six thousand years rescuing Aziraphale from every dumb situation he got himself into. Despite it being irrational, she knew why she had expected him to save her. She knew why her heart demanded to know why the one time he could have returned the favour, he didn’t. He’d left her in the dark office, crying on the floor. He could have helped her escape, but he hadn’t been there. 

A kindly looking older man walked up to where Crowley was sitting. Tami was a few steps behind him. “Hello, you must be Crowley. My name is Doctor Hansen, I’m the psychiatrist handling your case here. Would you like to step into a private room so we can have a talk?”

Crowley tucked her phone into the pocket of her jumper, stood herself up. 

Doctor Hansen led her into one of the small meeting rooms, closed and locked the door behind them. “We’re not locked in, Crowley, it’s simply to keep others out. Your privacy is paramount here.” 

Crowley nodded. 

“Now, you were referred here by your therapist, Nadeen, so we have been in contact with her. She believes you’re suffering from a form of PTSD, and possibly depression. There are a lot of options for you. Some people get by through PTSD with only therapy, some just take medication, others do both. Here, we mostly prescribe medication. Whether or not you stay on it is up to you and Nadeen and your doctor once you’ve left,” Doctor Hansen explained, “are you willing to tell me a bit of why you decided to come here?”

Crowley chewed on her lip. "I… I don't like to talk about it," she admitted, looking down at her lap. 

The doctor smiled sympathetically. "Completely understandable, Crowley. It would help if I knew some of your symptoms, at least. If you don't want to tell me what happened, could you tell me what symptoms led you to come here?"

Crowley sighed. "I… I get nightmares. Sometimes I can't sleep for weeks, no matter what I do. It… it can be hard to tell what's going on right now from what happened, sometimes I can't remember that it's over. It feels like it's happening all over again. Someone… someone who really reminded me of it had to stay with us for a week and it's gotten worse since then." 

"Are you worried about it happening again?" 

"All the time. Every time someone surprises me I think- I think-"

The doctor waited, but Crowley didn't finish. Finally, he started again. "And do you talk about it? Have you walked anyone through what happened before?" 

"My… my partner knows a lot of what happened but… no, I can't talk through it."

The doctor asked several more questions, Crowley did her best to answer them. Then he nodded and reviewed his chart. "Well, I would say that Nadeen is right, you do appear to be suffering from a form of PTSD. This… this happened more than once to you, didn't it?" 

Crowley nodded. "Twelve years. Someone… someone kept doing this for twelve years," she said. 

"Right. And you can't tell me what it is that person did, correct?"

Crowley took a moment to see what she could say. "I… he raped me," she said quietly, "the one who stayed in my house was my son. His son.  _ Our  _ son." 

The doctor's expression stayed fairly neutral. "I'm sorry that happened to you. Thank you for telling me that, I know it wasn't easy for you. Have you struggled with any other mental health issues since the start of the abuse? You did answer yes on a number of things that could point to both secondary depression and anxiety, have you engaged in any reckless behaviour? Driving too fast, drinking too much…"

"My partner and friend said I was drinking a lot. I haven't had much to drink lately, Ezra asked me to stop, doesn't let me have much to drink but… they were both worried."

The doctor nodded. "Reckless behaviour and unhealthy coping mechanisms are quite normal with your condition. Nadeen should be helping to give you healthier methods of coping through your symptoms. For my part, I think I would like to put you on an SSRI, which is a common form of antidepressant, often seen as effective for treating PTSD, and continue to give you a sleep aid, at least for now, so you can get some rest. Now, again, you're not obligated to take anything, or stay on anything, but that is our primary focus here."

Crowley didn't have to think about it for long. "I'll try anything to get better," she said, still not looking up. 

The doctor nodded. "I'm glad. Now, I'll go program that into your chart, it's too late in the day to give you the antidepressant, it needs to be taken in the morning, so we'll start you on it tomorrow. I'll leave the sleep aid and the lorazepam on your chart for if you have another episode, you just have to ask for it at the nurses desk."

Crowley nodded. 

"You've done a very brave thing coming here, Crowley. We're going to do everything we can to help you. If you need to talk to me, or you want to talk to your nurse, you just need to ask. I hope you have a good rest of your day."

"Thank you, doctor." 

Dinner looked absolutely revolting, so Crowley sent Aziraphale a text, asking him to bring something with him. She was around humans and would have to be eating like a human for the length of her treatment here. 

He arrived at about five-thirty with a bag of take-out sushi. He laid it out on a small table and then gave Crowley a big hug. 

"I'm sorry, Aziraphale," Crowley murmured, sniffled. 

"You have nothing to be sorry for. I blame myself, too, dearest, and I understand why you blame me. I should have been there for you. You've been there to save me every time I needed you in the last six thousand years and I let you down. I should have returned the favour. It  _ hurt,  _ Crowley, but I understand, love." 

Crowley nodded. 

"How have you been today?" Aziraphale asked. 

"The doctor wants me to go on some medication. I agreed. Nothing else is working, why shouldn't I try this. If alcohol can make us drunk, there's no reason why medication can't have an affect." 

Aziraphale nodded. "Of course, dearest. Do you want to have some dinner? I've brought you edamame beans, I seem to remember you liking them last time. And another snake roll."

Crowley forced a bit of a smile. "I don't suppose you brought any sake to go with it," she tried to joke. 

"Crowley…"

"I know. The doctor pointed that out too, you were right. It was a joke, angel. Although I do miss sitting up all night drinking wine with you."

Aziraphale stroked a hand along her back. "No one is saying you can never drink again, Crowley. Just not for now, okay? I did bring you some of your favourite teas."

"Thank you, Aziraphale," Crowley murmured, pressing their face into his shoulder. "And… I'm not sorry I had to write the note. I'm sorry I couldn't bring myself to tell you and I made you read it instead."

"Crowley, I love the written word most out of what the humans have invented. Do you really think I would mind reading a note from you? I've received plenty of important letters from people I cared about, and I've never assumed it was less heartfelt than something they had told me in person. Sometimes they're *more* heartfelt, when they say what you can't make your mouth say. It's okay. I'm not upset. I blame myself, too." 

Crowley nodded. Reached up and wiped her eyes. "Angel, I slept through breakfast and lunch and all of this stress is wearing on my energy. Is there any chance we can start on the sushi now?" 

Aziraphale laughed and kissed her cheek. "Of course, dear, take a seat, I'll get it dished out." 

Crowley settled herself onto the stool beside the table, tucked one leg up over her other thigh. From there, she just watched Aziraphale. 

He kept smiling encouragingly at her as he set the sushi out. "You've done an incredibly brave thing, Crowley," he said as he sat down and handed her a pair of chopsticks. 

"S'what people keep telling me," Crowley agreed, lifted a piece of her snake roll to her mouth. 

"We mean it, dearest. Now, I was wondering. I will obviously be here every day as long as you want me to be, is there anyone else you would like me to inform? Perhaps Anathema so she could visit?" 

"Maybe later, angel. I think I just need some rest right now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I trust you all not to do something horrible anyways, but I just wanted to let you know that Crowley's time in inpatient is coming from a very personal place for me, as someone who has spent time in a mental health care center. Many of Crowley's experiences there are borrowed directly from mine, and I really wanted to make an effort to show the positive impact that those centers can have. I would not be where I am today if it weren't for my time spent there, and in our fight against the stigma around mental health, we should focus on ending the stigma around inpatient care for it as well. No one would judge you if you had cancer and were staying in the hospital to manage it, and going to a mental health center to manage your mental illness is truly the same situation. So please, and as I said I trust you to do this anyways, tread lightly and be respectful in the comments, this is an experience that more people than just myself have been through.


	44. Chapter 44

"Yes, excuse me, Nadeen? It's Ezra, Ezra Fell, I'm Crowley's partner," Aziraphale said when the phone was answered. 

"Hello, Mister Fell. Might I ask why you're calling? You know I can't discuss Crowley's care with you, partners or not," Nadeen said calmly. 

Aziraphale took a deep breath. "I know, Nadeen. And I also know you can't do this part for me, it would be extremely unprofessional but… I was wondering if you could refer  _ me  _ to someone to talk to. I guess I didn't realize how bad it was until Adam came and stayed with us but… obviously I can't tell  _ her  _ this, but it's hard for me, too. And I've got nowhere to go. And I keep it to myself but now that she's in the hospital it's just all too much, Nadeen. I need someone to turn to."

Nadeen's voice softened. "Of course, Mister Fell. You're absolutely correct that I myself can't see you, it would be unprofessional for me to see both you and Crowley, but I have a number of colleagues I can call to see if they're taking patients. I assume you would like to see someone as soon as possible?" 

"Please," Aziraphale agreed. 

"Right. I'll make some calls and get back to you, Mister Fell. You're doing an incredible thing, getting Crowley through this, but you're right to say it takes a toll on you. I'm glad you're seeking help for yourself as well."

"I just want to be my best for her, and I can't do that in the state I'm in right now."

“Of course. I’ll get back to you as soon as I hear from some of my colleagues. Take care of yourself, if you can’t make yourself go and visit today, that’s okay. She’s surrounded by people who know how to take care of her, they’re trained for this.”

Ezra sighed. “I promised her I would come and see her every day. I’m not going to go back on a promise I made her. Not now, not ever.”

“I admire your conviction, Ezra, but you have to look after yourself, as well. If you’re not well, you can’t help Crowley get better.”

“I know, Nadeen, but I don’t think it’s going to get that bad. I can still go see her, and she needs support right now. I’m not going to leave her on her own. Please let me know if you find someone who can see me, until then, I’m just going to do my best to look after us both.”

“Of course. I’m glad you called, Ezra. Look after yourself.”

Aziraphale tucked the phone back into his pocket and took a deep breath.

He had a text from Crowley, but he knew the demon would understand if he didn't answer immediately. He was exhausted.

He knew Nadeen had a point. He knew he was burning himself out looking after Crowley the way he was. He needed a break, but he didn't know how he could possibly take one. 

He walked back into the bedroom, collapsed onto the bed, and closed his eyes. 

He woke up to his phone ringing. He pulled it from his pocket. 

It was Nadeen calling, he also noticed he had four more texts from Crowley, and guilt surged in his chest for ignoring the first one. 

He answered the phone call, pressed it against his ear. 

"Mister Fell?" 

"Yes, Nadeen?" He asked, trying not to think about the texts he was still ignoring. 

"I have a colleague who can see you tomorrow. I can't give him your phone number, you have to reach out to him, for privacy privilege reasons. Can I leave you his number?" 

Aziraphale agreed, jotted down the number Nadeen told him, thanked her, and hung up the phone. 

Then he checked his texts from Crowley. 

The first one was simply a good morning text, with a picture of a very unappealing breakfast attached to it. 

That one made him laugh. 

But he knew that if Crowley had texted four more times since he had fallen asleep, the next ones wouldn't. 

He sighed and checked the next couple of texts. 

  * Aziraphale? 



Not much context there. The next three didn't get any clearer, and just got increasingly frantic. 

Sighing, the angel hit call and put the phone to his ear. 

It rang for longer than it should have.

"Hey, this is Anthony Crowley, you know what to do, do it with style!" 

Aziraphale panicked. Why would Crowley be trying so hard to reach him and then be suddenly unavailable?

He didn't remember to leave a message, just hung up the phone and dialled the number for the nurse's desk.

It was picked up relatively quickly. 

"Hello, East London Mental Health Center, ward 9, how can I help you?" A pleasant voice asked. 

"I'm calling about my partner, Anthony Crowley, she was texting me rather frantically about an hour ago and now I can't reach her," Aziraphale said, biting his lip. 

"Anthony…" 

Aziraphale heard some rustled on the other end. "Could you tell me your name, sir?" 

"Ezra Fell."

"And confirm your address?" 

Aziraphale obliged. 

"Right, Crowley has given us consent to share information about her condition with you, so I can give you an update. I wasn't here for all of it, I was on my break, but I do know that Crowley had a rather serious episode. Apparently it caused a lot of commotion, there was some yelling and screaming in the common area, it upset a lot of other patients. They've given her a sedative and gotten her to sleep so she can calm down and rest. She probably didn't hear your phone call, the last a nurse checked on her, she was sound asleep in her room. We'll wake her in time for dinner if she hasn't gotten up already," the nurse explained. 

"Is she okay?" 

"According to the report, no one got hurt, there was just a lot of noise and erratic behaviour."

"She's not in trouble, is she?" 

The nurse sighed. "No, this is a psychiatric care ward, we anticipate some fuss and commotion. This is our lowest security ward, if she causes too many problems she'll be moved up a floor, but it's simply for her safety and the safety of others. Apart from in the moment de-escalation and having a talk with the on-call psychiatrist when they're up to it, we don't negatively enforce outbursts or episodes." 

"Should… should I come and see her?" 

"She's still asleep, and we can't allow you into the dorm area, so there really wouldn't be much point. I would come by after dinner to check on her, unless she texts you earlier and asks you to come."

Crowley didn't text him until five o'clock, which was when Aziraphale knew the hospital served dinner. 

She didn't send him an update, she didn't even appear to have noticed the missed call. 

She just asked when he was planning to come visit. 

Aziraphale was exhausted. He could have been resentful, with how irresponsible Crowley was acting, but deep inside, he  _ knew  _ she was sick. He knew it wasn't her fault. 

He'd already called and booked an appointment with the therapist Nadeen had recommended, Gerald, and he forced himself to stay calm. 

Crowley had been sedated, she likely actually  _ hadn't  _ noticed the missed call. She would be groggy and exhausted despite her sleep. 

She needed him to visit, to love her unconditionally no matter what she was unintentionally putting him through. It wasn't her fault.

  * I'll be there in about an hour, my love.



He knew it wasn't healthy to bottle up his feelings. But it wouldn't help either of them if he voiced his frustration with Crowley. 

It was about half an hour later, when Aziraphale had eaten something and was getting ready to go, that Crowley sent another text. 

  * Angel? You called me? 



Aziraphale sighed. 

So she really hadn't noticed until now. The irritation that had spiked with her first text soothed with that knowledge. Crowley was out of it and hadn't noticed. 

  * It's alright, dear, we can talk about it when I get there. 



If Crowley was concerned by that response, she didn't voice her worries.

Aziraphale boarded the bus he normally took to the hospital, and arrived within half an hour. 

Crowley looked agitated when he got there. It was six o'clock, the cover was still over her dinner tray, and she was pacing back and forth behind one of the couches in the room. 

She had dark circles around her eyes, her chin-length hair was messy and she was wearing clothes she had clearly slept in. 

Aziraphale's heart ached. He walked over to her, held his arms out. 

It took her a few more paces before she noticed them, and then she rushed over to him and pulled her arms around him. 

He held her close, pressing his face closely into her neck and shoulder, rocking gently from side to side as he held her, trying to soothe the tension from her movements. 

"I hear you had a tough day," he said softly, running a hand along her back. "When you didn't answer my call I panicked and called the nurse's desk. They told me they gave you a sedative."

Crowley sighed. "I'm sorry, I should have called you when I woke up but-"

She sighed, seeming rather helpless, and Aziraphale didn't have it in him to blame her. "It's alright, my dearest, you're tired and worn out. Why don't we take a seat, have a look at what you got for dinner-"

"I've already seen it, I'm not eating it," Crowley replied. 

"Can I call you in some take-out then?" Aziraphale offered, "the fish and chips place you like does take out and delivery, I'm sure with a miracle I could convince them to deliver here."

Crowley had almost never said no to that particular fish and chips joint, but she shook her head. "The sedative made me nauseous," she admitted.

Aziraphale dropped the subject. He slowly guided Crowley towards the couch, settled down with the demon seated between his thighs, leaned back against Aziraphale's chest. 

"Do you want to talk about what happened?" Aziraphale asked, "you don't have to if you don't want to."

Crowley thought about it for a while, then shook her head. "I… I don't think I want to. I just want to relax. What did you get up to?" 

Aziraphale thought about how he would say it. "Don't take this as something you need to feel badly about," he said, "but I called Nadeen to ask if she knew anyone who could see me. This is… this is all a  _ lot,  _ I thought maybe talking to someone myself might help. It's not your fault, dear, I'm happy to help you, I'm just… I'm tired too."

Crowley seemed to take the news well. Maybe she was just too tired to worry about it. It could be that she would worry about what Aziraphale had told her when she was feeling better. 

She was so tired and quiet, in fact, that it was worrying him even though he knew why she was acting this. He pressed a kiss to her hair, held her close, which she seemed to appreciate.

There was an old movie about an island full of dinosaurs on the television, which Crowley wasn't really watching, but she laughed when a man got trapped in a boat with a tyrannosaurus rex and her baby. 

Aziraphale and Crowley both knew that dinosaurs were a joke, but Crowley seemed to enjoy watching the imaginary beast teaching its young to hunt with the arrogant man. 

He stroked his hand down the side of Crowley's arm as she half-watched the movie, and she finally seemed to relax in his arms. 

"It was just a bad day today," she said, sighing, "he's been everywhere today. I've been trying to remind myself that he can't get here but he used to find me  _ anywhere _ . It's hard to believe he can't come back." 

Aziraphale kissed her cheek. "That's perfectly understandable, Crowley. And I don't know how to assuage that fear, but I promise you I'll protect you to the best of my ability. Even if he somehow did manage to come back, I'd make him go through me, first, and I know you believe he would barely have to raise a hand to end me but you've never seen me good and properly  _ angry  _ and vengeful. There's something to be said about a vengeful angel."

Crowley might have cracked the slightest bit of a smile. "That does help a bit," he promised. 

Aziraphale was relieved to hear that, at least. At least his comfort was somewhat helpful.

The next thing on the television was another dinosaur movie, Aziraphale was reasonably sure they were simply replaying the same one, but Crowley told him it was the third movie of the series now. 

He should have been bothered that he'd rushed over to visit Crowley, and they now sat in relative silence, watching old movies, but he also knew just having him there was doing Crowley good. 

He loved her an incredible amount. Too damned much and not even close to enough. 

Crowley reached up and brushed her fingers against his cheek. "You said earlier you were going to see a therapist? I should have reacted then but…"

He nodded. "It's okay, you have a lot on your mind."

Aziraphale expected some self-deprecation. He didn't really view it that way, but he knew it could come across as Crowley dragging his own mental health down with her. 

He didn't expect Crowley to study him with her intense yellow eyes, and then nod. "That's good. I was worried about you." 

"And why were  _ you  _ worried about  _ me _ , dearheart? I'm the one who should be worrying."

"Because you've spent the last several months worrying about me," Crowley said simply, "don't think I don't know it's hard on you, and don't act like I'm being negative about myself to acknowledge I'm hard to take care of. I  _ know  _ you love me and you'll care for me happily, but that doesn't change this fact that I know it's wearing on you. I'm glad you called someone."

Aziraphale didn't think he could have said it better himself if he tried. "So you know it's not in any way your fault or responsibility, right?" 

Crowley nodded. She took a deep breath, as though convincing herself of what she was going to say before the words left her lips, then spoke. "It's not my fault that I need more care than some other people right now. I can't not be at fault for that, and be at fault for what giving that extra care is costing you. I can, however, be glad you're getting help for it."

Aziraphale smiled. "When did you get so wise?"

"I had a long talk with the psychiatrist yesterday, before everything went to shit. I'm only just remembering what he said now." 

Aziraphale laughed, and Crowley and her angel turned their attention back to the movie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made some art of Crowley in this story!   
> https://closetosomethingreal-1337.tumblr.com/post/641957207794155520/conceptualize-chapter-43-crowley-or-just-a


End file.
